Yours
by Rosie eisoR
Summary: Kalasin fanfic. Kidnap. Angst. Lies. Revenge. Violence. Disguise. Fantasy. Intrigue. Plots. Boys. Girls. Life. Death. Complete!
1. don't look away

_"Kally!"_

_The girl's gaze shot up, focusing on a hazy figure developing out of the mist. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and clenched her fists by her sides, trying to assess the threat this new woman posed to her. Gradually the mist dissipated, and the blurred outline of the figure sharpened into focus._

_The brunette's face was relieved. No, relief hardly did the expression justice; it was more than that. Indescribable joy filled her face, joy befitting the years that mother and child had been kept apart. Her arms opened wide to welcome her daughter. "I've come to bring you home at last."_

"Mama?" Recognising the woman, Kalasin staggered forward carefully, trying to avoid the jagged edges of rock below her. Her bare feet stung as she reached out a battered and aching hand, trying to touch her mother. Her muscles screamed with the effort, but the Queen remained just out of reach. "Mama, I was so scared!"

"It's all right, sweet. I'm here now. Just a little further!" Thayet called out, tears trickling down her cheeks. "Come on, please!"

Kalasin struggled ahead, trying desperately to reach her mother, although perversely, the distance between them remained the same. The skin of her foot tore on a sharp rock. Temporarily distracted by the throbbing pain, she looked down, holding her bleeding sole. Suddenly, remembering what she was doing, her head snapped up. Thayet had vanished.

"Mama?" She was nowhere to be seen. Loneliness surrounded the girl, pressed in at her until it was difficult to breathe. "MAMA!" Kalasin, princess of Tortall, sank to the ground, beating her already bruised fists against the ground as she sobbed.

* * *

"Jonathan, you have an absolutely exquisite daughter-in-law," Lagne of Galla complimented, nodding to the Yamani in question. Shinkokami coloured daintily and accepted the praise with a pleased smile. Almost instantly, she was drawn away by her protective husband, Prince Roald, with a murmured excuse that emerged as sounds rather than words.

Jonathan let out a hearty laugh at his son's doting gaze. "Young love, eh?" he grinned, gesturing to his son, currently whirling his wife around the room. Lagne smiled wanly in response, not pleased by the snub. The heir to the Tortallan throne should take more care to appease his neighbours, especially when said neighbours took the trouble of visiting in person. A visit had been necessary, though; he had been unable to stop dreaming of Tortall for six months.

"Lagne, would you care to meet my first-born daughter?"

The Gallan King nodded eagerly, figuring that if he _was_ destined to be there, he might as well satisfy his curiosity at the same time. Thayet's beauty was unsurpassed; Jonathan's handsome looks rivalled by few. Roald had been a fine figure of a man, despite the questionable personality. He was anxious to meet another of their children. Word had circled that the Tortallan monarchs were looking for suitors for their offspring. An alliance between the Gallans and the Tortallans, although not a pressing demand, might turn out to suit Lagne very well.

"Clarisse, would you mind finding Kalasin for me?" Thayet asked. Lagne eyed the Queen of Tortall as the servant hurried away to do her mistress's bidding. Although she was renowned as a strong, independent woman, her appearance was deceptively fragile. Her cheekbones were high and accented with rouge, her raven tresses twisted around a dainty crown. Her stance was relaxed, yet somehow alert as though she was ready for anything. Her nose was arched, and her green-hazel eyes twinkled, set in delicate, creamy skin. Every man in the Eastern Lands, Lagne included, longed to hold this alluring woman, although wisely none let their desires become public knowledge. Surely Kalasin would be magnificent, coming from such elegant, noble parentage.

A young woman hurried from the balcony above. Lagne felt a rush of apprehension in his stomach.

"This is my daughter, Kalasin." Lagne looked at Jonathan for a second, before he took his first glimpse of the picturesque divinity that was sure to be his eldest daughter. Jonathan sounded… tired. Not booming with pride, as he was sure Thayet's father must have done. With such attractive descendants, it would be hard not to burst with pleasure.

Lagne turned. A sullen girl met his horrified gaze. Scars tracked her temples. Her eyes were not the strong hue of sapphire the Conté line were renowned for, more of a lighter colour. Her mane, though dark, wasn't the sleek, captured locks of midnight sky that her siblings had. Also, she was shorter than Lagne would have thought, and plumper around the cheeks as well. He had heard tales of the princess, including a few mentions of kidnap, but there was something not quite right here, something that set aside Lagne's plans for a quick engagement. Of course, he wouldn't dishonour the neighbouring royalty by mentioning anything. He would show these Tortallans how somebody with manners acted.

"A pleasure to meet the progeny of such an esteemed family," Lagne murmured charmingly, if not entirely honestly, as he reached for Kalasin's gloved hand.

* * *

I smirked as I pulled my curtains shut, having refused my maids entrance to my rooms this evening. I found it exhausting, constantly having people under foot. Of course, this was really just another of my idosyncracies my precious Mama and Papa indulged me in. They let me have anything I wanted. Guilt was such a wonderful thing to play off. It meant that my slightest wish was obeyed here.

Tonight marked the seventh year since Kalasin's capture. Oh, how things had changed.

Almost as though I had conjured her with my thoughts (though I certainly hoped I hadn't), I heard Thayet's tentative voice outside my door. "Kalasin?" The maids had probably informed her I'd turned them away. Charming. I'd even managed to be polite this time.

"Yes, Mama?" I asked, not bothering to waste breath on an invitation into my room. She'd only assume that I was in a sociable mood, and then I'd never get rid of her.

"Are you feeling well?"

My eyes rolled. Wonderful. An interrogation, and I'd probably brought this on myself by throwing the stupid wine over that stupid attendant. He'd stepped on my _foot_, but that would be difficult to explain to Thayet. "No, Mama, I'm really not," I lied; ready to excuse my behaviour as I had so many times before. Being co-operative was the easiest way of getting rid of her. I padded to the door and opened it. She stood outside, leaning against the wall. A worried expression distorted her perfect features. "Mama, I was so scared."

She pulled me into a hug, pretending she knew exactly what I was talking about. Really, she had no idea. No idea at all. I didn't even have an idea – it was my traditional cover story, to explain my strange behaviour. I wept into her shoulder, aware that her very expensive dress was now crinkled.

"Look, Kally, I love you. I love you so very much, and I will always be here for you." She pulled away, pushing my hair behind my ears so she could see me better. "Always."

I sniffed and nodded. Obviously I didn't believe her. I'm no fool. Anybody who loved their daughter as much as she claimed to would never have let them be captured the way hers had. "G- g- goodnight," I stammered.

"Goodnight," she smiled. "Sweet dreams."

I managed a smile, privately cynically amused. Hah. Not in seven years had I had a sweet dream. Nightmares filled my sleeping moments, choking me in fear so I was unable to even cry out for help. Not that I'd get any. Still, I made sure I reaped the benefits the following morning. "You too." Yes, she could have the sort of dreams I had become accustomed to, and I wished her many of them. Sometimes I thought she _might_ dream the same ones; I'd catch her looking at me halfway through breakfast as though she'd never seen me before, as though she'd seen what Kalasin should look like now.

I made sure the door was safely locked as I got into bed, so I couldn't be disturbed. I hated her so much. Her perfect skin, her light, easy tone, her smile. The way she tried to love me.

I couldn't wait until the time came. Jonathan was despicable as well. He was kind, warm and gentle, but firm with his country and children. And so handsome! Surely no man in all the Realms could equal him, with his flashing sapphire eyes and his dark hair, blacker than the night sky.

My thoughts turned to the events of this evening. King Lagne of Galla in particular stood out. His green eyes sparkled under eyebrows arched not with disdain, but with… I struggled to find a suitable word. Pride? He seemed almost stiffly aware of his station, but had managed to be charming, all the same. Yet, a couple of times, when he had assumed I was preoccupied, I had found him looking at me so… oddly.

I was used to people staring, mouths agape, but King Lagne's gaze had been… penetrating. Was that the right word? It had disturbed me, anyway.

An idea occurred to me, and my stomach twisted in fear. Did he know?

My secret had been so well concealed. It was absolutely impossible. I reassured myself that the Gallan King had no idea. He couldn't have found out what so many were ignorant of.

He didn't know that I wasn't Princess Kalasin.

_

* * *

"Papa!"__ Kalasin breathed a sigh of relief as she saw her father coming towards her. Her prayers had been answered, the gods had finally begun to listen. Now she could leave this place of nightmares and fear. Papa had come at last. He would save her._

_"Kally!__ Kally, hang on! Just hang on, sweet! I'll be there in a second!" he called._

Kally wondered what he was talking about, until she found herself rubbing against rocks. The bottom fell away from her stomach as she looked down miles. She shivered in fear, gripping onto the cliff for dear life. Literally.

"Papa," she wept, her hands bleeding with the effort to clutch the overhang and pull herself up. She couldn't do it. "Papa, I need you!"

"I'm coming, Kally. Just a little longer!" She saw a hand appear over the edge, and reached out for it. Her skirt caught on a plant stubbornly growing out of the rock. She looked down to tug it free with one hand, still gripping onto the cliff with the other. When she brought her gaze up again, he had gone.

"PAPA!" she screamed with all her remaining strength. It was useless. Her father had vanished. The rock under her hand crumbled; she slipped and fell with a shriek, crashing down onto the spiky boulders below.

A hand reached out and shook her as she rolled over in her sleep, face creased with fear. She was comatose. A grin lit the gaunt cheeks.

"Oh, my pretty, pretty Princess. How they'll pay. How you'll pay."

* * *

"Kalasin!"

I ignored the shout, and continued to walk primly as if I hadn't heard anything. They evidently still needed to learn I wasn't a dog at their beck-and-call. What did they think all those servants were for?

"KALASIN!"

I sighed in exasperation, realising that I couldn't feign deafness any longer without avoiding awkward questions and swirled around, taking care to smooth my skirts down so as to prolong the silence.

"Yes, Thom?" Honestly. You would think that they would have realised already that I didn't actually enjoy their company, or making conversation with them. But no, they had to be persistent.

The Lioness's son panted up beside me, red in the cheeks from running. He looked a little too plump. I tilted my head on one side, considering him. Perhaps I'd let him be messenger boy for me. It looked like he could do with the exercise. "Have you seen Lianne?"

I growled underneath my breath, mildly relieved that it wasn't me he wanted, yet insulted that he thought Lianne could do something better than me. It annoyed me that everybody always seemed to assume that I'd know exactly where the person they wanted was. In fact, I did know where my younger "sister" was, but I decided it might be kinder if I let him search for her. Add a bit of variety to his dreary life, and to teach him a lesson as well. A fake smile stretched across my cheeks. "No, sorry. Shall I tell her you're looking for her?"

"No, that's fine," he said, a little too quickly. "I'll, uh, find her later. It's not important."

My eyes gleamed. A teenage crush, how adorable. And how strangely convenient. Father wouldn't like it. I had heard the tales of his relations with the lady knight. Besides, since there was no chance of marrying me off, Lianne was to marry that Carthaki Emperor. Or was it the Tusaine King? No matter, neither would approve. Nor would dearest Papa.

Better make sure he found out.

* * *

"Papa!" I breathed a sigh of relief as I spyed Jonathan, not too far away, talking to a group of young knights. I could begin putting my plan into action immediately.

"Kally! I'll be there in a second."

I yawned, covering my mouth with my hand. Last night's dream had left me tired, not to mention impatient. "Papa!" Personally, I felt all his attention should be centred on me. I was his _daughter_, or supposed to be, anyway. After all, it had been his fault that Kalasin had been kidnapped. It had been under his nose, after all. "Papa, I need you!"

"I'm coming, Kally. Just a little longer!" He turned back to the youths. Well, now. There was a _much_ easier way to get myself noticed, and it would probably even add credence to my new information. Besides, I'd never liked being kept waiting. Not even by a king.

I collapsed on the ground into a heap, my head hitting the stone wall behind me.


	2. slipping through my fingers

_"It's working," he told me gleefully. "She's weakening. Day after day, she loses a little more."_

_I frowned. This was not the success that I had hoped for. This was not indicative of my time to shine, nor of all the riches he had promised me. Each year, he told me the same thing, and each year, I replied the same way. "Can't you speed it up a little?" I wheedled. "You know, once you become King, you won't have to live like this anymore. Don't you want a palace?"_

_He pushed his lower lip out, looking every bit a petulant teenager. "I'm doing things my way!" he growled. "Let me deal with my side of things. Don't forget that I put you where you were! Without me, you'd be nothing."_

_I scowled. Without _me he'_d be nothing. He often forgot that, but I neglected to remind him of it this as well as every other time, fearing his temper more than the overlooking of a detail that could be corrected later. I changed the subject, hoping to gain his approval. "I found out how to possibly put the Lioness out of action," I told him._

His eyes lit up greedily, eager for more revenge. "How?"

_I detailed my plan quickly, aware that I'd lose his attention if I extended it too much. "She'll leave Corus in a fury, and then we can start," I finished. He nodded, pleased with my progress. It had been a slow seven years. But now we could finally begin. And it was because of me, he'd have to recognise that sooner or later._

_He tracked my jaw line with his finger. I struggled momentarily not to wince, repelled by his smell. He'd let himself go a bit too much lately. "Your mother would have been so proud of you." I smiled. My mother. I hardly remembered her anymore, it had all been so long ago. "Shame I killed her."_

There had been that.

* * *

"Kally? Kally, can you hear me? Nod if you can."

The voice broke through my vision. It disappeared and my senses were flooded with the palace once more. Irritated, I nodded and fluttered my lashes pathetically. "Papa?" I asked weakly.

"Yes, Kally?" he asked quickly, concerned.

I nearly rolled my eyes at his tone. It was ridiculous. He was just feeling guilty that he hadn't rushed to my side. I'd have his undivided attention in the near future, that was sure. I attempted a feeble tone, injecting whimpers into my pauses, and flicking my eyes all over the room, as though I was looking for an escape route. Oh, I was well practised at this. "I got so lost. It was all dark. It was horrible, Papa, there was this… man. He – he told me – no."

"Kally? Kally, is something wrong? Get Duke Baird back in here," he called over his shoulder.

I bit the corners of my mouth to keep them from curving in a smile. "Papa, he told me to keep Thom and Lianne apart, or great vengeance would be taken against Tortall. He said keep them apart at all costs." I wrinkled my forehead in a frown. "He was huge. He - he -" I buried my head in my blankets, shoulders shaking with fake sobs. He rubbed my back in what I supposed was meant to be a comforting way. "He said he'd – he'd hurt me if I disobeyed him." I brought my head up again, turning to fix my gaze to his. "Worse - w- w-worse than b-b-before."

Fear and something else simmered in his expression. "I'll deal with it now, sweet," he said, getting to his feet. "Will you be able to sleep now?"

"I think so. Thank you, Papa," I replied, sugar and honey coating my tone, the stammer all of a sudden gone. As he left, I settled back, satisfied. He would ban them from seeing each other. And it would be my doing. Alanna would hate him, and the country would be without a Lioness.

And I would be Queen.

Perfect.

* * *

Lagne swayed slightly with the movement of the carriage. It lulled him into a peaceful frame of mind as he considered the problem Thayet's daughter posed. There had been something strange about her. Something... not right. None of the Contés had treated her as one of their one. A grudging love had come from most of them, something that almost seemed to have been drilled into them. It was Liam, the middle child, who had most surprised him. He almost acted as though he hated Kalasin. It was quite possible that he did. Lagne himself felt a strong dislike for her, and all he had to go on was suspicion and one meeting.

He jolted forward as his coach came to an abrupt halt. Shouts sounded outside. Confused, he poked his head out of the flap, alarmed to find that all his servants were being forced to the ground.

He stepped out of the carriage, wondering where the mass of bandits, outlaws or rogues were. He saw the most movement coming from the front, so he headed that way.

Drawing himself up, Lagne commanded, with as much authority as possible, "Why is our journey halted?"

His servants were blasted back by a cloud of blue and a bundle of rags stood unsteadily. "I am afraid that it is my fault," a soft voice said. "And you will not be allowed on your way until my demands are met."

She spoke, although shakily, with the accent of a noble. He strode over to her. "Is this your idea of a joke? One person – a female – against the King of…" He trailed off with a gasp, eyeing the scars that decorated her cheeks in horror.

With no apparent idea of why he'd stopped speaking, the young woman – whose hands shook constantly, and fiddled with everything; her hair, her sleeve, her cloak – cleared her throat and began again. "Your Majesty, all due respect, but I am a desperate woman. Armed with my Gift, I don't think you should be worrying about _my_ chances." The blue glow played around her slim figure, dancing warily. Lagne looked back, puzzled that no one was challenging her, until he saw the Gift swirling around his servants in a colourful mist.

He turned back to the girl. Her eyes, shards of sapphires, shot with streaks of blood, dared his. A strange sensation swept through him at the familiarity of her face. Lagne struggled to remember where he knew her from.

"I feel as if I have seen you before, miss."

Her hands flew up to her matted locks, dark as ebony, although there was no flash of recognition in her eyes. "I don't believe we've met."

He swept her a bow. "Lagne Halai, King of Galla."

She knelt and pressed her forehead to the floor, acknowledging his status in a gesture Lagne recognised as being Yamani. In the motion, he realised who she was. "Your Majesty. I am Alianne nih Haito, of Gerafon. I beg you to forgive my rudeness."

Lagne's brows crossed in a frown. Then she couldn't be Kalasin. But she still didn't look Yamani. Wasn't Alianne the Lioness's daughter? He had heard rumours, perhaps it was possible that Alanna and Jon could have… No. He had spent too long around the Tortallan court, to have his mind leap to such suspicions. This Alianne wasn't the Lady Knight's daughter. But neither was she the Yamani her action and name implied.

"Gerafon? I do not believe that is a place with which I am acquainted. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Colour flooded Alianne's cheeks. "It's a small town in the southern most Yamani Isle, your Majesty."

"Why did you leave?" he asked, biting his tongue when he realised how rude it had sounded. Still, perhaps it would startle her into a truthful answer.

"I grew tired of being asked to detail on my home surroundings. I'm headed to the capital of Galla," she added slyly, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "A royal assassination attempt, actually. It looks like our paths will cross again."

A wry smile touched Lagne's cheeks. She'd trust him when and where she wanted to. "Would the lady of _'Gerafon_' mind allowing my men to go free so we could continue our journey? Maybe then we could work out a travelling arrangement." She held his gaze a little longer, expressionless. "Unless, that is, you have other plans. If that's the case, I suppose I will just have to see you at my, ah, death."

She mumbled something, which he didn't catch, eyes darting all over the place.

"I'm sorry, my lady, would you care to repeat that?" he asked politely.

She raised her clear blue eyes to his green ones again, suspicion easily readable in her gaze. "Your Majesty, I just - how are you so certain that you can trust me?"

"True assassinators usually don't reveal their action plans," he said dryly.

Her eyes crinkled with laughter, a most un-Yamani-like action. "There's been insanity in every family," she stated quietly.

"Especially Alanna the Lioness's, so I'm told," he probed gently.

Her face twitched. He must have touched a nerve. "Why else would she put herself through all that training? Only one girl has successfully followed in her steps so far – perhaps Mindelan also has seeds of madness." Bitterness was now written into her expression as she continued without a pause to allow him to respond. "And now I must bid you good day, your Majesty, Mother-" She hesitated, swallowing tightly before continuing. "Mother will be wondering where I've got to." She curtsied and made to disappear off the side of the road.

The sharpness in her tone aroused his suspicion, and he remembered the tale of Kalasin's knighthood dreams, told to him by a disbelieving Liam, after a particularly difficult dinner. "I believe other girls have wanted to follow Sir Alanna. Times are changing in Tortall, my lady, and you write them off to your disadvantage."

"_Wanted_, but failed to," she replied hotly, a blush rising in her cheeks. He remained calm, a slight smile twisting his lips as he realised she'd just proven she wasn't Yamani-composed. "Maybe Keladry will fail!"

Lagne folded his arms across his chest. "One might remark on how much Yamani ladies have come to know of the Tortallans these days," he hinted.

She rolled her eyes, scrunching her skirt in her hands as she recognised her blunder. "You know I'm not who I say I am, I know I'm not. Please, I beg your Majesty to leave it at that."

"I'm willing to accept that." He eyed her, seeing Thayet in her calm countenance and in the way she clasped her hands together, but Jonathan in the proud posture and toss of her head. If there was even the slightest chance of her being Kalasin, he needed to take it, for her sake. The next carriage she stopped might not be so understanding. "However, if my lady has anywhere to go, I would beg her to impinge on my hospitality for as long as she deems necessary."

* * *

_"Aren't you a pretty one?"_

Ten-year-old Kalasin stared up at him in undisguised horror. She hadn't seen his equal. "You're not," she informed him, voice trembling with fear. "You're not pretty at all."

Harsh laughter met her words. It served to make her even more scared, although she made attempts in vain for it not to show through. Fright would give him something to play with. "I know. But I was. Once."

Kalasin's mouth wobbled, but she pressed her lips tightly together, the way her mother did when she was angry. "Can I go, please? It was very nice to meet you, but I need to go now." She had learned young that politeness usually got her exactly what she wanted.

He laughed again, but this laughter was no happier than its precedent. "No."

Kalasin frowned. "What… what are you going to do with me?" The question was tentative. She didn't want to know, but knowing would release her of this dread of the unknown.

He brought his face close to hers, and Kalasin winced, wrinkling her nose. He smelt worse than anything she had ever come across. "Why don't you wait and find out?"

* * *

I swirled in that evening's dress, feeling like a princess. Wasn't that ironic? I rubbed a jealous hand over the blue bodice edged with silver threads, and fluffed out the equally beautiful and expensive skirt.

"Now, now, your Highness," tutted a maid. "Don't go scrunching up your skirts."

I whirled around, eyes fierce.

"What?" I hissed, warningly.

The maid wasn't my usual one, and obviously had no sympathy for the poor girl who had been traumatised by her appalling kidnapping. She returned my glare with one every bit as forceful. "Princess Kalasin, with all due respect, this is your brother's birthday, don't spoil it!"

My eyes narrowed. Nobody spoke to me like that, nobody! I let out a shriek. "I see him! Oh! He's here, he's here, and he's going to kill me!" I wept, clenching and unclenching my hands around my skirts, determined to crease them now to spite her. I rocked on my feet, expecting her to fetch a chair, a drink, Kalasin's mother. She didn't.

The maid rolled her eyes. I stepped back in astonishment, thinking that I heard her mutter, "That would be a blessing that the gods don't appear to wish to bestow". But no. Surely not. I mean, I was Princess Kalasin. Or supposed to be, but that was only a minor detail. I was to be pitied, and cared for, and looked after because of my terrible ordeal. Nobody told me that it would be a good thing that I died, _nobody_.

"Princesses don't stare at commoners slack-jawed," she said tartly. "Stop with your visions, and behave."

I obeyed. He would come for me soon enough, and then they would _all_ die. That was enough.

* * *

Lagne considered the problem of Alianne nih Haito. Or whatever her real name was. He still suspected her to be Kalasin, and the more he got to know of her, the surer he became of this. Unfortunately, every time the subject of her true identity had been broached, she had neatly evaded it. He had purchased a few gowns for her – those tattered scraps would never do for a noble, even if she wasn't royalty. Already she looked more cheerful, the pink setting healthy glows in her otherwise pale skin.

He needed to keep her close to him, partly because otherwise she'd probably just slip away, and partly because...

"Geoffrey, would you fetch Alianne for me?" he requested.

The man bowed. "As you wish."

She appeared within moments, and curtsied, having dropped the Yamani pretence shortly after their first meeting. "Yes, your Majesty?"

His eyes examined her quickly. His healers had set to work on her wounds, the worst of which, she had assured him, had been healed using her own Gift. She had just been too weak to walk and heal.

She blushed under his gaze, dropping hers to stare at her hands, which fiddled with her skirts. "Did your Majesty want me for something?"

Reluctantly, Lagne took his eyes from her. "Would you care to dine with me tonight?"

For a minute, he thought that she was going to refuse, and wondered why he was bothered. Then her sapphire eyes lifted to fix on his face, and she nodded. "It would be an honour. Your Majesty."


	3. mirror images

_He watched her, mesmerised by the beauty in her face that was obvious even whilst she slept. She was utterly perfect, the image of her mother only slightly tainted by her father. He inhaled as she did, exhaled as she did, finding himself oddly calmed by imitating her steady breathing. He breathed in, and… Was that a flicker of blue light? He pulled his chair closer, beads clanking as he did so. His amber eyes sharpened as he leaned right over her. She certainly looked normal enough. He drew a knife from its sheath and slit her arm from shoulder to elbow. Blue light spilled out, blinding him, before it evaporated into the air. She shouldn't have been strong enough to do that, mentally or physically. _

_After stabbing the magical creation repeatedly in a fit of fury, he cursed, hurling the knife at the opposite wall. _

__

He was a fool. Kalasin of Conté had escaped him.

* * *

I almost screamed myself upon waking. Shivering, I pulled my rug tighter around me. He would be coming for me soon. And I wouldn't be ready for him. I wouldn't ever be ready for him, really.

My thoughts turned to Lagne of Galla. There were two things that I found myself thinking about recently. Lagne was the more pleasant of the two.

There was something about the way Lagne had looked at me the first time that I met him that puzzled me. He knew that the name given for me wasn't my true name, but then again, I had somehow half-expected that. Somebody would have to guess eventually. But he had… It almost seemed that he knew who I really was. Which was impossible, but there you have it. Nobody knew who I was nowadays. Apart from _him_, but I didn't even want to think about that at the moment.

I mean, if King Jonathan of Conté and all his imperial court were blind to the fact that there was a fraud for a princess, what hope in the Black God's Realms did a king who hadn't even met the first Kalasin, Kalasin before she had been attacked and kidnapped, have of seeing past the disguise? I was simply being paranoid, that was all. King Lagne wouldn't feature much in my future, and I would wager ten gold nobles that he would scurry back to Galla within a week or so. If he hadn't gone already.

My shoulders rose and fell in a defeated shrug. Mind-reading wasn't a skill that I possessed, unfortunately. He had taken my family away from me. All I could do was his bidding.

Until now, obviously. But even now, all I could do was sit and wait.

It was his move. He would have to find me, but I had no doubt he would do that. He had done it before, after all.

* * *

_Kalasin__ rocked back and forth on her heels. She had to get out. She had to leave. She couldn't stay any longer, it was impossible! Except there was no way out. No freedom, no friends, no hope._

_Her breath came in unsteady, short gasps as she swayed. "Please, Mother, grant me a safe path home," she prayed. "Give me a sign, show me what to do, for I have no idea." She closed her eyes tightly. "Show me hope."_

Footsteps sounded along the dirt track. They trod in a rhythmic pattern, a pattern that beat in her mind. Crunch, crunch, crunch, here I come. Ready or not. She was not ready. She would never be ready to face him again.

_"I found you, my pretty princess. I shall never let you go."_

The words rang in her mind, surrounding her in their sinister folds. She trembled all over, her rocking becoming more incessant. "Please," she begged the Goddess. "Please." The word was muttered over and over, comforting her as the footsteps came closer, and closer and-

_

* * *

_

"I found you," I murmured upon waking. "I shall never let you go."

I shook my head, shaking myself out of sleep. It was unusual, finding myself in a warm bed after the freezing wind from the dream, although it was the same one that I had slept in for the past seven years. I tumbled out of it, unwound myself from the sheets, and padded to the huge mirror, ready to laugh at the absurdity of it all as I readied myself for the day ahead.

A gasp caught in my throat as I watched my reflection, brush raised in my hand. By the Goddess, she was… I blinked. Me. How strange. I can't have been fully awake, there must have been some remnants of the dream still in my mind. That was all, not strange at all, really.

I yawned and stretched, not at all unsettled by my dream. The Goddess, help Kalasin? What a ludicrous idea. Allowing myself one last glimpse in the glass for reassurance, my eyebrows shot up. Disconcertingly, the eyebrows in the mirror were motionless.

Wide sapphire blue eyes held mine firmly, a glimmer of almost amusement betraying their owner. My hand trembled as I reached to pull a lock of hair away from the braid, noting that her hand was still. It remained my shade of brown-black. Then how...?

The mirror blurred out of focus (or perhaps that was my eyes blurring) and the reflection became mine once more. I returned to the bed, curling up in a tight ball, perturbed by the image. What was happening?

* * *

"So mote."

A smile twisted my lips as I watched the mirror. Praising every deity I could name, I stepped away from it and hugged the wonderful secret to myself. It wasn't winning, but it was closer to it than I had come in years.

"Thank you," I whispered softly.

"Am I permitted to share your happiness, my lady?" a cool voice enquired.

I whirled around, eyes widening in shock. I hadn't seen any reflection in my mirror. Well, obviously not, it would have been impossible. "I... uh..." At this crucial moment, words, a chance to explain myself, to save my sham, failed me. I closed my mouth, resigned to the fact that there was no explanation that I could offer until I had an idea of how long he had been standing there. He would almost certainly have seen what was happening.

"Perhaps now you would care to let me know what is going on."


	4. insanity reigns

_His gaze was pulled to the shaking rags in the corner. Roughly, he grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her to her feet. _

"Don't," she begged. "Leave me alone, anything, I'll do-" She choked on the last word, voice trembling.

"You'll do anything?" he asked, eyes glimmering with excitement.

Kalasin gulped. Oh gods, this could be over for her now. No more... Her scattered thoughts collected briefly, and her breath caught in her throat. "No," she said firmly. "I know what you want, I know who you want. No."

"Oh, my pretty Kalasin," he mocked, reaching out to wind a raven lock around his finger. "You think this all revolves around you." He pulled out his knife, and sliced through the hair. "It doesn't."

"You're insane," she accused, drawing back hurriedly until her back made contact with the wall.

His face darkened. "Don't say that!" he screamed, his voice cracking.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" she shrieked back.

He took the knife in his other hand and lowered it just over her heart, pressing very, very gently so she could feel the point against her chest but he did not draw blood. "What did you call me?"

"Insane," she wept, squeezing her lids shut so she couldn't see him.

He brought his blade next to her neck, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry?"

She let out a piercing scream, which reverberated off the walls.

* * *

"Insane," I whispered to myself, hugging my blankets around me. "He's insane, she's insane, I'm insane." I repeated this again, for effect. 

"I know."

I sat straight up, eyes searching the room for the speaker. "What do you mean, you _know_?"

Liam pushed the door open fully, letting me seethat hehad spoken. "I know," he repeated simply.

I glared at the boy who was supposed to be my younger sibling. "What do you mean? Nobody knows! I mean, _he_ knows, _I_ know, I'm pretty sure that _she_ might, but _you_? It's not possible, it can't be, ever. You can't know, you just can't!" I finished feverishly.

Something flickered in his eyes as he came to sit on the edge of my bed. If I had been feeling myself, I would have known that something was wrong. Liam never came near me if he could help it. People had told me at the beginning that he was just nervous, because he had been so distraught over losing his beloved Kally. But he had never ventured close. I in turn had kept away from him, simply because I disliked the snivelling brat. Was it possible that his adoration for his older sister had suddenly been rediscovered after all these years?

"I know what you are."

Fear widened my eyes. I simply stared at him dumbly, desperate to collect my thoughts. He didn't. He couldn't. But he sounded so certain.

"You're not her, are you?" He spoke the words carefully, as though he was trying to understand. He didn't. He couldn't. Nobody understood me.

"How do you know I'm not Princess Kalasin?" I asked, trying to keep a reasonable, steady tone, and failing. We were so close, so close to the end of it.

His dark gaze rounded in shock and he stumbled back. "Because you just told me," he retorted, and fled the room.

My mouth dropped open.

This, this was _not_ good.

* * *

"Is there something wrong, your Majesty?" 

Lagne's thoughts were interrupted by the servant. "Hmm? No, not... not really." He traced an invisible pattern on the table. "Nothing wrong with me." That was true, but for how long? What was he to do now?

The servant nodded, and collected the cups. "Very good, your Majesty. We'll be setting off again in the morning." He bowed and made to leave.

The Gallan King held up a hand to stop him. "Actually, I believe I would like to return to Corus. I have something of my royal cousin's, which I have thus far neglected to return to him."

* * *

_"Kalasin?"_

Kalasin looked up, and immediately threw herself to the ground. "Great Mother," she murmured, letting her eyes examine the dirt.

"You are lost, child." The voice echoed around the girl's mind. It was everything, yet at the same time, nothing but a voice.

"I am afraid that I do not know the way home," the dark-haired girl confessed.

"Stand, child," the Goddess requested. "Things have gone wrong in Tortall. An impostor sits, poised to strike."

Kalasin nodded, scrambling to her feet. "I know, but I can do nothing." Still she uncomfortably avoided the gaze of the goddess.

_"Stand, child," repeated the immortal._

_In confusion, Kalasin glanced around, and then up. Their gazes locked. "I-I-I am st-standing," she stuttered._

_"Stand tall," was the next command._

_A dim recollection of years of training to be a young lady returned, and the shadow of a smile graced the princess' lips. She obeyed, drawing herself up to her full height and putting her shoulders back._

_"I will guide your feet home."_

* * *

"YOU WILL NOT DO THIS TO MY CHILD!" 

I breathed a sigh of relief, finding my first good sign in ages. The incessant dreams, the mirror, Liam's sudden disappearance and finding out that Kalasin was free had combined to form a disaster in my mind. Finally, something was going the way I wanted it to. I moved closer to listen, but I needn't have bothered. I could have been at my own home, back in Carthak, and I would have heard them clearly.

"I don't want him near my daughter. Is that so much to ask?"

"Yes! You can't expect to flick a finger, and have people run whichever way you choose. You do not control my son, you-" There followed a colourful update on just what the Lioness thought of her King at that moment. At the end of the string of profanities, she drew breath, and I had to strain to hear her say coldly, "Send word when you're prepared to act like a human again, your Majesty."

I then heard a door creak open and slam shut, and began to walk towards the noise.

The Champion had stormed out, cheeks red with anger. I heard a steady flow of curses coming from her mouth.

"Something wrong?" I asked, aiming for a breezy, nonchalant tone.

Her violet eyes narrowed suspiciously in my direction, and her face showed clear distaste. I tried not to bristle; she was little more than common scum after all. Worse, actually, that husband of hers was a former King of Thieves, after all.

"Nothing at all, your Highness," she muttered, and stalked past. The imprint she made on my mind could be easily compared to that of a lioness, deadly, dangerous and protective of her young. She had been named well.

"Perhaps one day, you will learn to look at me with caution," I whispered, watching her disappear.


	5. dream a little dream

_Tossing and turning, tossing and turning... _

_Too hot. It was too hot. She was far too hot. Suffocating... She couldn't breathe. She was suffocating. Where had all the air gone?_

_She sat up in bed. This wasn't her bed. She didn't belong in here. What was she doing here? Here, where she had no place. Here, where her name wasn't hers. Where nothing was hers._

_Her eyes swept over the room. Not her room. She didn't have a room, not anymore. She didn't have anything anymore._

_Hot. Too hot._

_What was wrong? Usually she was too cold here in this strange country, icier than the one of her birth. Tonight, it was too hot. Far too hot. Burning. She was burning up. Too hot._

_She crossed to the window, and opened the shutters, letting a rush of icy air cool her. He'll be coming soon. She leaned further out of the window, taking in the frigid air with huge gulps. And I won't be ready. _

She laid a hand on her forehead. Far too hot. Her forehead was going to set her hand alight. She could go and wake somebody to fetch help. But what would be the point?

_What would she say? What healer would rush to _her_ aid, the Princess Kalasin who wasn't really Princess Kalasin? They didn't know. They didn't understand._

I'll have to just go back to bed, _she decided eventually_.

_On the way, she glanced in the mirror. And stopped. She stared, blue eyes widening, incredulous, disbelieving. _It's her.

* * *

_A man sat in darkness, the only light glinting from two green puddles in front of him. _

"Not failing me, are you, my pretty?" he enquired of what at first seemed to be empty air.

"I think you are," he continued, watching one of the puddles, which was formed from his own Gift. "I think you've lost faith. I think you're slipping."

He sighed, eyes flicking to the other green pool of fire. "And Kalasin of Conté. I could kill you right now," he informed the image of the sleeping girl. "Right now, dead in your dreams." The mage reached toward her, and then withdrew his hand. "But I won't. Not yet."

His teeth glinted in the dim light as his mouth curled in a cruel smile. "It wouldn't be painful enough."

He reached out a hand again, this time as if to caress the girl's head. "And I like painful." He let out a sigh. "I might have let you live, if you had helped me. But you didn't, did you? So you see," he carried on intently, crouching, and leaning over the pool, "I have to kill them all. I won't leave anybody alive. Not even you. And it's all your fault."

_All my fault. _

Kalasin of Conté shot up in bed, hair mussed, and eyes alight with fear.

_Kill them all._

"Nobody left."

* * *

Dreams. Dreams have become so much like real life, that sometimes I hardly know how to tell the difference, which sounds insane, yet... it's true. I think I'm dreaming now. Which makes me wonder; am I dreaming that I'm dreaming, or dreaming that I'm awake? 

_Water flooded her, surrounded her. She was swallowed by it, drowning in it. Where did it all come from? She fought for air, she fought to breathe. It was so hard, when had everything become too hard? _

_She threw her covers off, and gulped lungfuls of air. Water still surrounded her, she could still feel its presence, but it was no longer choking her. She could breathe. She set one foot on the floor and then the other, wincing briefly at the coldness of the floor. A bruise might tell me if I'm dreaming, she thought idly. But I might just dream it away. _

_A sudden shudder shook her whole body. Earthquake, she thought instantly, fumbling for support. But why was it only her that was shaking? Nothing else was moving. Unless it was all moving, and she was standing still... Or was she moving with it? All her senses were blurring into one with the second judder. _

_She got to her feet, and suddenly the world was moving. She could see that, knew it as clearly as she knew her reflection in the mirror. It span, span, span around her. A wave of nausea swept her, as she shook again._

"Kalasin, wake up."

* * *

I was thrown into the real world as something that I hope to never catch the scent of again was thrust under my nose. 

I wrinkled the offended body part and my eyes, which had begun to water at the putrid stench, fell on Lagne, who removed the source of the smell from under my nose.

"I apologise, my lady, but you wouldn't wake," he said, shrugging in answer to my narrowed gaze.

"Don't you have water in Galla?" I asked lightly, in much better humour than I felt, and vomited in the basin he passed me.

He smirked slightly and gestured at me. It was then that I realised that I had been drenched in icy water, which I suppose gave me an explanation for the drowning sensation.

"I get your point," I grumbled, pulling myself up into a sitting position. "I don't wake easily. At least, not since we began sharing dreams. I know that her sharing my nightmares is supposed to... scare her? No, unnerve, but I'm not supposed to have her dreams!" I looked up at the King of Galla again, trying to conceal my fear. "I don't know what's happening."

He must have seen the terror in my eyes; at my confession, he sat next to me, and put an arm around my shoulders. "He can't get you here," was my simple reply. It didn't comfort me for a second. He didn't know. He hadn't been trapped for years.

"Can't he?" I asked slowly, eyes considering the wall opposite. "I think he can." I shivered; that was not what I wanted to be thinking. But it was undeniably true. I felt like he could get me anywhere, sleeping or awake.

The man watching them from his cave let out a humourless laugh. "Yes, I think I can too."


	6. all i hear are voices, noisy voices

_"Not __Isis__," the woman pleaded. "Anybody but my little girl. Take me," she insisted. "I can - I will do anything you want. Anything. Please? Take me!" _

He shook his head in a vehement gesture, dark brown hair flying from side to side across his face. "No. She's perfect. I want her." He pointed one finger at her, a finger now bare of the jewels that had once adorned it.

The dark-haired child blinked her pale eyes at him.

"She's mine." He reached out to grip her white wrist. The brunette let out an anguished wail, and threw herself at him. A sharp smile flashed over his features as he realised he could teach his favourite lesson to the child immediately.

"Watch closely," he told the girl, before his attention returned to her mother.

For one moment, he let the woman's nails scrabble over his skin. In the next, he whipped out his knife. The third moment had the woman's lifeless body collapsing on top of him.

The young girl's face crumpled.

"Don't fret, my pretty. You're going to be Princess Kalasin."

* * *

I woke up sweating, finding my breath coming short and fast. 

My eyes darted around the room. Satisfied that the figures had stayed in my nightmare, my breathing calmed. I clambered out of bed and gradually forgot all about the bad dream. That, I suppose, was my problem. The bad things were so easily forgotten and too easily forgiven.

* * *

It was gone midday when I first heard it. 

I'm not a healer. I don't even have the Gift, it just looks as though I do. But I do know that having voices in your head is not a good sign. Well, not voices. Just a voice. But it was _his_ voice.

_I'm ready to kill them all.  
_  
Startled, I dropped my fork, and looked around for the speaker. Lianne, who was reluctantly seated next to me, frowned, disapproving of her elder sister's table manners. It was the first time she'd acknowledged my presence for days – she seemed to blame me both for Thom leaving and Liam's disappearance as well! Of course, I was responsible for both, but that didn't mean she had to blame me for them. She had no proof. "Kalasin, is something wrong?"

A blush stained my cheeks as I realised I was attracting attention. "Oh, nothing, nothing." I had imagined it, of course I had. The meal returned to normal. It was only Kalasin, being peculiar again.

During dessert, the whisper in my mind returned_. _

I'm coming for you. I have a plan.

"I have a plan," I repeated softly, earning many strange looks, but not much more than was usual. "Coming for..." My eyes widened. Me? It was him, him at last, but I didn't want him now, I wanted to be left alone. I wanted his voice out of my head.

_I want you to begin tonight,_ he told me.

_Tonight?_ I asked. Tonight was too soon, it was-

_Tonight, he confirmed._

* * *

I was pale and sweating once more by the time the end of dinner came. Making the excuse that I needed to lie down, I went back to my room, and changed into a dress that the maker had decided 'showed off my feminine charms'. In other words, it was tight-fitting and low-cut. And perfect, although breathing may prove to be a problem. It wouldn't be as much a problem for me as it would be for King Jonathan, though. I slid my dagger into a hidden pocket. 

"I'm ready for you, Father, dear. Are you ready for me?"

* * *

_The small girl stumbled up the hill. Tears slid down her cheeks, mingling with crimson blood, and stung where they met open cuts. _

That walk would stay in her mind for years to come, each slow, steady, painful step of it. Seven years, in fact, because at the end of them another change in her life would appear, it meant that all his promises for her would be fulfilled at last, and she would get what she deserved.

Nobody had recognised her at first. She remembered feeling like a small ghost wandering the halls as if she were dead, because nobody made eye-contact with her, or spoke to her. It was as if she wasn't there. But why should they remember her? She'd never met them, they'd never met her.

She had felt the weight of many disapproving gazes on her, but whenever she turned to look at the watchers, their eyes were always busy elsewhere. It was something that she had had time to get used to; very few people found it easy to talk to her without the scars marked carefully on her drawing their attention.

Eventually, her feet had led her to a large brown door. She had set her small hand on the handle…

* * *

That was where I stood, as an eighteen-year-old. Outside the library, ready to greet the man who thought he was my father, only on this occasion, it wasn't the first time that I was going to meet him, but the last. 

Knock or not? I wondered, fiddling with my supposedly 'enchanting' sapphire-blue gown that, far from bringing out similar shades in my fascinating sapphire eyes, turned the mild blue into a wishy-washy colour. It seemed a silly thing to be worrying about right now.

"But that colour looked so good on you when you were young!" had been the _astonished_ words of the equally _astonished_ dressmaker, who had been amazingly _astonished_ to return from a decade in Tyra, to find that Princess Kalasin was the promising swan who had turned into a duck. Obviously, it hadn't occurred to her that I wasn't who she thought. My reaction had been one of the ones that I am most proud of. I should have been a Player, the performance was that good. I had burst into tears, screaming about devilry, and how she was one of them, coming to take me away.

I hadn't seen her since. Perhaps Father had granted that prestigious position to another person. Father.

That brought my attention back to the present situation. I pushed open the door, and found him sitting exactly where I thought he would be, reading from a scroll.

"Father?"


	7. death, or something like it

_On her first night, she'd thought that she must have died. Nothing in the mortal realms could have been as good as this. She had a father and a mother who loved her, four siblings who cared for her, and an entire country of people who would willingly die for her. _

She bounced up and down on her bed. Up. Down. Up. Down. She'd never had a bed that she could bounce on before. Up. Down. Up. Down. Finally, she flopped back onto the bed, a huge grin splitting her face in two. Being a princess must be the next best thing to being a goddess. It must be wonderful to be worshipped this way, to have all this money, all these lives at her disposal.

Warmth. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be warm. How could she forget that? She hugged herself, hugged her secrets closer, her wonderful secrets, treasures now, not to be shared with anybody. Hers.

"Go to bed now, Princess Kalasin," the maid ordered, before leaving the room.

She frowned, already being in bed, althoughthe woman hadhardly seemed to care.

The door creaked open, and then Queen Thayet swept in. "I've just come to check on my wonderful daughter," she beamed. "It's so lovely to have you back!"

Her frown deepened. She wasn't Thayet's daughter, wonderful or otherwise. The smile slid from her face, and her heart hardened. This wasn't hers. None of this was hers.

That didn't mean that she couldn't have it.

_

* * *

_"Ah, evening, Kally," King Jonathan greeted without looking up as I pushed open the door. "Can I do something for you?" 

I licked my lips carefully, and wiped my sweaty palms on my dress (an action which would, I am sure, horrify the dressmaker. Briefly I revelled in the imaginary expression on her face). "It's more a question of what I can do for you, _Sire,_" I purred in my most seductive tone, carefully locking the door behind me and slipping the key down my front.

His head shot up, and astonishment flew across his face. "Kally?" he asked, sounding horrified.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I continued across the room, and positioned myself on the table in front of him. "Doesn't the almighty King ever get tired of his Queen?" I inquired, leaning forward to give him the best possible view for a man.

He glanced away, disgust clearly imprinted in his features. "Kalasin, what's wrong with you?"

My shaking fingers slid under his chin, and turned his face my way. He closed his eyes, so as to avoid the indecent view my location afforded. "You didn't answer my question," I informed him, teasingly.

He knocked my hand away. "Kalasin, stop this!" he ordered, getting to his feet.

It was time. I raised my eyes to his, amused at the confusion in his sapphire gaze. It was time to banish that confusion. Only the truth from now on. Delicious, painful, deceitful truth. "I'm not Kalasin," I told him triumphantly, smile curling over my lips, "does that mean I still have to stop?"

Jonathan of Conté froze.

* * *

_A beautiful girl._

She was a beautiful girl. She had always been his beautiful little girl. After she had gone missing, he had torn aside the kingdom to look for her, exhausting himself day and night by using his Gift, his power as Voice of the Tribes and the Dominion Jewel. Nothing had worked.

And just as suddenly as she had vanished, so she reappeared, but different somehow. She'd had the very colour drained out of her with all the spells and torture, but she was the same Kalasin, she was still his little girl. No matter how much he hugged her, how much he kissed her and told her that she'd never go through anything like that again because he'd look after her better, he'd protect her from harm, it changed nothing. She never warmed to him. Sometimes, she'd look at him, and he'd see the sadness in her blue eyes. He'd see that she blamed him for letting it happen, and so he blamed himself.

He kept on blaming himself, for seven years. No matter how Thayet told him not to, told him that it wasn't his fault, he still blamed himself for destroying his beautiful little girl.

Only, it turned out that she wasn't his. And she had destroyed him.

* * *

"Oh, don't tell me you never knew," I purred, reaching out to caress his cheek with my hand. "You never knew that I wasn't your daughter? You never knew I'd replaced her?" 

Of course he hadn't known. I'd taken great precautions to ensure that he wouldn't find out until this moment, this delicious moment that I had so anticipated, came. However, twisting the knife in his chest was a bit of pleasure on my part. I'd had to wait seven years for this, and I intended to enjoy every single second of it.

Jonathan's face was still in a mask of confusion, and slowly, anger began to contort his handsome features. "You..." he hissed.

Apparently he didn't have a name for what I was quite yet. It didn't matter. I laughed, though it sounded false even to my ears, and flicked my hair behind my shoulders, fixing a sultry pout to my lips. "What's wrong, _Father_? Don't you want me?"

His sapphire eyes narrowed to slits, and my heart skipped a beat. He ignored my questions, snarling, "What have you done with my daughter?" as he caught my wrist and closed his fingers around it.

Laughter escaped my throat again, and I darted out of his grip of steel. I feigned concern, placing my hands on my hips. "Oh dear, can the king not protect his own daughter from nasty people like me? Does the almighty, omnipotent King Jonathan of Conté not know how to tell his own daughter from a fake? Well, that is a problem, isn't it?"

He lunged at me, and missed, his anger making him clumsy. "I will have your head for my wall," he promised in a menacing tone.

"Will you now?" I asked carefully, changing my voice from the mocking cry it had just been. I lowered my lashes, fumbling with a small bag that hung by my waist, allowing him to come up beside me.

I took a deep gulp of air and squeezed my lids shut as I opened the bag. There was a thud.

I released my breath and opened my eyes, letting them fall on Jonathan's motionless body. "Sorry, Father, _dearest_. You were in the way, that's all."


	8. thorn torn beginning

_This was the scene that haunted his mind. It echoed around, images flashed, unbidden from his memory, clear as though the day was still unfolding around him. The girls were sharing it, of course, their faces creasing with identical expressions. _

He was a small boy, perhaps ten or eleven, and he sat, crying by a large bed, pleading with the occupant not to die, not to hand him to his fate.

There was no response from the ghostly pale figure. No matter how much the little boy begged and sobbed, not one word left the bluish lips, he did nothing more than breathe in and out. Eventually, even that stopped. That was the moment that Crown Prince Lagne Halai reluctantly became king of Galla.

* * *

The room flashed with light once. The light was green, alien in comparison to the sunlight that would stream in through the shutters in one hour. However, the girl curled up in the bed did not stir. Perhaps the light didn't filter through into her closed lids, or perhaps she was lost in a cloud of sleep, a sleep that was soon to become eternal. 

The man who had arrived in the room with the incandescent light examined the bed carefully and also the man who lay asleep on the floor beside it. Green light flickered from his dark palm, making sharp shadows dart over the sleepers' faces.

It was an enticing opportunity. Oh, he knew_ she_ would curse him and scold him later, but what did that matter now, now when they were sleeping and would no longer pose a problem? He had been meaning to let them live, but he was tiring of them now. They weren't willing to play the game his way, which was imperative in his mind. So, they had to go.

"I hope you'll forgive me for tarnishing such perfection," he said, addressing them as he slid a silver object out of his belt.

It was, he reflected, mere minutes later, with slight reluctance that he positioned his hand, clenched tightly around the knife, over the girl's throat. "You won't feel a thing," he promised, and with a swift movement, cut a line in her throat that spilled over with crimson liquid. He slit deeper and deeper, before bestowing the same treatment upon her companion.

Satisfied with the completed mission, the murderer vanished with the same burst of bright colour, leaving Princess Kalasin of Conté and King Lagne Halai of Galla alone at last, surrounded by their own blood.

Dead.

* * *

_The innkeeper hadn't seen the girl before. His eyes passed over her, interested, before lowering to examine what rooms were free. He lifted two keys off their hooks, and handed them to her, swallowing a gasp as her hood slipped back, and his brown gaze connected with her green one._

_She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmured in a low tone, sliding one of the keys into her pocket. Her mouth curved into a warm smile, before she turned. Greedily, his eyes devoured every movement she made. "Master Salmalín? Our rooms are ready."_

_Now the innkeeper was _very_ interested, if also a little disappointed that she appeared to be taken. This must be the WildMage, the only female that Master Salmalín cared to be seen with these days. Only, he mused over a tankard of ale later that evening, she hadn't looked like the WildMage was said to. No savage claws or dripping saliva, for a start. Perhaps now Tortall's famed black-robed mage danced to a different tune._

_"That man thinks that you're after my innocence," she told the Tyran in a low tone when certain they were out of earshot._

_His lips parted in a grin. "Believe me, my – my lady, I wouldn't dare to try." He held open the door for her, and closed it behind himself. Suddenly, a judder of pain shook his whole body, and he gasped for breath. She was by his side in an instant, worry setting into her face._

_"Master Salmalín?" she asked cautiously, careful not to touch him just yet, in case whatever hurt him passed to her. _

_His dark eyes found hers, wide with mixed emotions. "It has begun."_

* * *

"It," I sang out happily, wiping the blade clean of blood, "has-" 

A gloved hand muffled my next word. The owner pulled me into an alcove as my bloody handkerchief fluttered to the floor. I raised an eyebrow at the woman who had interrupted my happiness, wondering where best to plunge my dagger. I named myself a silly fool for not recognising her straight-away, but on closer inspection it became apparent why I hadn't. Her long brown hair had been hacked off, and now stuck out at odd angles, and thin red lines marked her heart shaped face. A beautifully soft mouth trembled with fear, but her eyes glittered in contrast with cold rage. Veralidaine Sarrasri. My stomach sank as I realised that he must have been to see her already. Wonderful. Now all the rats in the world would come and bite my toes off while I slept.

"He's back."

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to have concluded from those two words. Frankly, they just begged a lot of questions, questions that I didn't have time to ask. I had my own master to answer to, and couldn't waste time chatting with a commoner. Unfortunately, my shrugging her off didn't go as well as planned, because I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen when I tried to push past.

The brunette was having some trouble shaping the words of her fear. "He's back," she repeated, edging her blade away from my stomach. She took in a couple of shaky breaths. "This is your doing," she hissed, cold anger making her voice echo in my mind. "This is all your fault. If he kills, it will be your fault!"

I stepped back from her, pressing my back against the wall. She was so silly; did she think that her words would stop this? It was set in place, and nobody was going to stop it. Nobody was going to stop _me_. Least of all _her._ "No," I whispered, quashing all thoughts of rats. "It will be your fault, yours and everybody else who lives in this castle, for accepting a traitor into your midst! You can't tell an impostor from your own princess."

"Your poison means nothing to me," she rapped back, eyes flashing with fury. "You spout pretty venom, but it means nothing." Her hand shot out to fix around my throat, squeezing very slightly. I gasped for air. "You are going to tell me everything."

After I had, she drew back a little, but still managing to block my exit. "So," she said slowly, rubbing her hands together. I couldn't read her expression, which was contorted with emotions, and this irked me. I needed to know what she was going to do next, in order to plan my next move. "It has begun."


	9. nightmare erupting from a dream

_He hadn't been able to resist. She looked so defenceless as she slept. None would have known her as the stubborn WildMage. The man who usually slept beside her, or swept her away for a night of star gazing, was suspiciously absent, but that didn't worry him. The time would come soon enough when the two would meet again.  
  
The knife was his faithful companion through everything. Idly, he wondered what tales it would have to tell, if it could speak. It would remember the first death, that mage student, then his lovely impostor's mother, then those wonderful years with the Tortallan princess. It would recall tasting her flesh again as he killed her and the Gallan. This knife had journeyed with him since the beginning, and it would travel with him until the end.  
  
She awoke, long lashes beating against her lower lid as she focused on the figure. Suddenly, her eyes rounded with fear. "You," she choked.  
  
He came to sit beside her, ignoring the mask of disgust that rippled over her beautiful features. "Did you miss me?"  
  
Fury intercepted any other emotion. She whipped around. "No," she hissed. "You're not real." She still had that wonderful foreign taint to her Common tongue.  
  
"I beg to differ. Perhaps a little pinch to convince you it's not a dream?" He had to prove his point. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but she'd given him no choice. He considered pain to be a beautiful emotion, raw and natural. It was displayed on her face now, as she tried to fight the screams from erupting out of her throat._

_*_

"He's going to catch you."  
  
"We're not going to let him," Veralidaine shot back at me, crouching behind the table. "Not until I decide that he can."  
  
Commoners. They thought that they ruled the world. Honestly, I'd never met more stubborn people. I thanked the Gods that I had landed among royalty, so I wasn't often forced to mingle with the riffraff of the country. She refused to believe anything I said, and we had to do everything her way. Mithros, the word 'compromise' didn't feature once in her vocabulary.  
  
I grumbled something that should have been undetectable, but the stupid woman had ears like a bat. Literally. Damned Wild Magic. She crept over, and grabbed my arm. "If he catches me before I say so, I will make sure that you suffer for the rest of your life. I mean that." The menace in her blue-grey eyes told me that she did indeed intend on my agony, and I was not one to disregard the word of a mage.  
  
"Fine," I said huffily, acting as though it didn't matter to me one way or the other, though we both knew it did. "I won't give you away."  
  
"Good," she said, satisfied, and returned to her hideout not a moment too soon, for a blast of incandescent light bathed the room in a fiery green. I wished that he wouldn't insist on dramatic openings. It left a blur on my vision.  
  
I curtsied to him. "Master."

*

_Out of the earth, he came, like something out of a dream.   
  
The girl stared at her hands in amazement. Her pulse raced and her eyes were wide with shock. "I didn't mean to," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to work." Tears shot to her eyes, and she tried to push him back. "It wasn't supposed to work," she repeated desperately. "I take it back!"  
  
It had started as a joke, to see who was the most powerful. She had been happy to join in, because in jokes, nobody got hurt, right? Right?  
  
Ahmose had died first. She had tried to turn their potions teacher into a tree, like that Master Salmalín had supposedly done to Tristan Staghorn. All that was left of her was a small acorn. Next had been Datri, then Amir. Explosions, creations that had gone out of control, Words of Power misused… She knew that she would die trying, but still she tried to follow Lord Thom of Trebond, because she had been there when Kadeem had refused to go any further. She closed her mind against the image of burning flesh.  
  
A large iridescent stone sat before her. It was supposed to enhance her magic enough so that she could cope with the force required for such a complex spell. She still didn't believe that she could do it, opal or no opal. Master Thom hadn't actually raised the insane Duke, that had been a fable. Or so she had once believed. It was impossible not to believe what lay before her eyes.  
  
"It was just a game," she wept. "Nothing was supposed to come of it."  
  
He turned his head, stiffly, as though awaking from a long sleep. "You… did – this?" he asked haltingly.   
  
She nodded. "Oh, but I didn't mean to! Go back, I take it back!" Her youthful face was twisted with regret, and guilt. He took her in with one glance, and decided that she was of no worth.  
  
"A life for a life, young one," he murmured.  
  
She frowned in confusion. Of course she didn't understand; she was too simple to. She understood well enough once the steel penetrated her flesh, though. The first life had been taken.  
  
"Just a game? I think not."_

_*  
_  
My eyes flickered over his figure as it shaped in front of me. He had obviously been a good-looking man in his prime, but there was no telling what a year or so in a Stormwing body and death would do to you.  
  
"Princess!" he greeted, a smile wrapping around his unpainted lips.  
  
I kept the scowl from my face with an effort. He called me 'princess' because he had forgotten my birth name, the name given to me by my mother. But I didn't forget. I couldn't. "You're late," I accused, standing straight and locking my hands behind my back. "You went somewhere else, didn't you?" I knew he had. It was just fun to play with him, fun to watch the guilt fly across his expression.  
  
He hesitated, forming a lie in his mind quickly. I watched him steadily, faintly amused by this so-called powerful man's attempts to keep in the favour of an eighteen-year-old child, whose only claim came from stealing somebody else's place in the world. "I was... detained," he came up with, deciding that I would not dare to question him.  
  
"Where?" I asked coolly, determined to drag this out. So long as it kept his attention from his precious Veralidaine, it worked for me.  
  
He shifted from foot to foot, eyes skipping across the room, trying not to connect with mine as he searched for an excuse. Inevitably, they landed on the crouched WildMage, and I cursed silently.  
  
"What's this?" he asked, tone stern. I didn't answer, just plastered my face with pretend shock. He strode over, and pulled out the Gallan.  
  
She had been prepared for something like this. "Master," she whispered reverently. "Master, what can I do to serve you?"  
  
He dropped her arm, a smirk crawling over his features. "You want to carry out my wishes?"  
  
"Oh yes," she lied, blinking up at him innocently. I hated her then, hated that she won his trust so easily, and crept into his mind without question. I despised her for knowing what to do, and for getting away with it, when I had to work so hard and he still questioned my every action. "I... I only hid so that your sight would not be tainted with my worthless presence." She dropped her gaze, and brought a faint blush to her cheeks. I swore at her in my mind, viciously, and begged for looks to kill.  
  
Arrogance twisted his face. She played on his pride, made him feel omnipotent. But he still had doubts, thank the gods. "How did you know I was here?"  
  
I felt a dim sense of foreboding uncurl in the pit of my stomach, as she pointed at me. "She wants to betray you, Master. She thought that I would help bring you down."  
  
As his amber eyes fixed on mine, I gulped down fear. He would see through her transparent act. He had to.


	10. turn and turn again

_The swarthy man paced the fire nervously, concern glinting in his dark eyes. "You're sure?" he pressed a third time.  
  
She nodded, not a trace of her exasperation visible as she watched him prowl like a panther before her. She idly fiddled with a lock of blonde hair, hoping he'd calm down soon. At first, they had gotten on well, forming plans, before abandoning them half-way through, realising that they'd never get that much flour. But he'd begun to get more and more impatient, dismissing his task as 'babysitting', no matter how important the baby was. He was restless for action, and the arms of his loved one. Being Master Enfell, babysitter extraordinaire, didn't suit him nearly as well as being Master Salmalín, renowned black-robe mage. She was edgy as well, constantly thinking about how Kalasin was faring. But it did them no good, and so she hoped this… fidgety attitude would be abandoned soon.  
  
Her hopes were in vain. "I have to go to her," he said immediately, and made for the door.  
  
She blocked his exit, well-bred distaste flickering briefly over her otherwise expressionless face. "Master Enfell, all due respect, but I fear that you will do more harm than good, and I will not thank you for deserting me."  
  
"I can't stay!" the mage exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.  
  
She was immovable, chin upturned, light-coloured hair sliding from her face. "You must," she said firmly, in the tone of one who expected to be obeyed without question.  
  
Only, he was not used to obeying, at least not her. When he wanted his own way, he expected to get it. He turned eyes that burned with scorn and fury on her. "You wouldn't understand," Numair hissed scathingly.  
  
Anger flashed in her own eyes at the disdainful tone, and she stiffened. When she spoke, her voice was clipped and icy and the fire was removed, or hidden, from her eyes. "I beg to differ."  
  
The black robe was about to shove past her regardless, when she continued, in the same frosty accent, "Master Enfell, I command you to stay. Furthermore, if you escape, I will either have you imprisoned, or magicked to my side." Her eyes dared him to disobey.  
  
Passing up the challenge, he submitted to her order, grumbling about the unfairness of it all as he sat. "What do you propose we do now?"  
  
*_

_  
_Daine pressed her fingers to her lips, not entirely sure whether they were going to turn up or down, as he turned on his little helper. She watched quietly, knowing that one less to fight against might tip the scales in their favour, especially one such as her... That didn't stop the swell of guilt in her stomach. Her freedom, her life, hung by a knife's edge. The girl she might have condemned to death was a traitor. She had betrayed all that Daine held dear. Didn't that mean she deserved to die?  
  
No. She'd been acting on Ozorne's orders, that was all. Daine herself knew how persuasive the old Emperor could be.  
  
She heard the clank of beads from his braided hair as the man drew closer, watched the girl's eyes widen in fright, and tightened her mouth. She had to save herself, if only to warn the others of the danger. At least now she had bought Tortall some time.

The impostor's panicked breathing was now the only sound in the room. "You…" She inhaled deeply, evidently struggling to collect her thoughts. "You believe _her_ over me? _She_ killed you!" Daine flinched. This was _not_ what she'd planned. "I'm getting you the _throne of Tortall,_" the girl reminded him. "How can you think that I would betray you now?"

"Because you want it for yourself," Daine snapped, before she could think. The girl shot an irritated look in her direction, and then focused her attention on Ozorne once more.

The former Emperor looked thoughtful. "And those are all very valid points," he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, the question is, what am I going to do with you?"

The false Kalasin smirked, and turned to Daine. In the next second, everything seemed to have faded out of existence._  
  
_

*

_Alanna__ impatiently brushed her vibrant hair from her eyes. She slid her sword away, adjusted her footing, and thrust forward quickly, aiming for her opponent's heart. She dodged an imaginary swipe at her side, and stumbled, foot catching on a loose rock, and tripped over, throwing her hands out to take most of the fall. She then proceeded to sneeze several times, and glanced up for their source, blinking threads of fiery hair out of her eyes.  
  
"Great Mother," she breathed reverently.  
  
The dark-haired Goddess wore an almost frown – or what would have been termed one, in a less immortal being. "You deserted your post," she pointed out, in her voice not suited to mortal ears.  
  
The Lioness turned her face away, embarrassed, and resisted the temptation to clamp her hands over her ears so she wouldn't have to listen. "It was necessary. How can I serve, when-"  
  
"I thought I needn't worry about the other side of things," the Goddess sighed. "But now I find that you-" She stopped herself, emerald eyes as unreadable as always.  
  
Alanna hung her head, slightly ashamed. "They can do without me," she insisted.  
  
A derisive snort came from behind her. A young man leant against the wall, one foot picked up, the flat resting on the brickwork. "_This _is my protection?" Aside from his company, he was unremarkable. His ash brown hair was untidy and in need of cutting, and his eyes were sky blue. His face might have been pleasant had distaste not been written into his expression. It wasn't unheard of for the Goddess to favour boys, but what did Alanna have to do with it?  
  
What might have been annoyance flickered over the immortal's face. "Yes."  
  
Alanna staggered to her feet. Her amethyst eyes flicked to examine the Goddess, and hardened on the boy. "What?" she croaked.  
  
The stranger sneered at her. "Some Champion," he muttered. "Wanders off when the fancy takes her."  
  
The Lioness clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. "Don't make assumptions of me, boy," she hissed dangerously. She was not a force to be reckoned with.  
  
He thrust her a bored look, taking his foot off the wall. "I will do what I want."  
  
Alanna scowled at him, remembering her company before she made a retort straight from a soldier's mouth. Not that it would probably be unfamiliar language to him; his clothes were torn and of cheap material, and he walked shoeless. A commoner, to be sure, a status that did not match his tone of voice. Her eyes narrowed speculatively.  
  
"Alanna, I have a task for you," the Goddess said gently. Alanna turned her face eagerly towards the Goddess. She needed a task, her feet were getting itchy around the Swoop, much as she loved it. "I need you to get Josua to the palace in Corus."  
  
The boy who was apparently called Josua fixed her with contemptuous blue eyes, raising an eyebrow in an almost challenging way. It was not, however, her he addressed. "Is she up to it?"  
  
Tortall's Champion's lip curled. "Of course I am!" she snarled indignantly. "I can easily get a brat to the palace."  
  
Josua said nothing, merely lifting his other eyebrow in response. Alanna's renowned temper was rising and she breathed calmly, or, rather, as calmly as she could manage. She could teach him a lesson or two about respecting elders on their journey. She shook her head, realising she was beginning to think like her Mithran teachers.  
  
"Secretly," the immortal continued. "You can't let anybody see him, or you. Do you understand?"  
  
Secretly? A dim sense of foreboding stirred in Alanna's stomach, and she fixed the Goddess with a questioning look.  
  
It was Josua who answered. His disdainful tone was gone, replaced by… She struggled to find a suitable substitute, and came up with – sorrow?  "Tortall's been invaded."  
  
*_  
  
Thayet the Peerless, Queen of Tortall, was afraid. She hadn't had cause to be scared in a long time, and she hated herself for showing such weakness. She glanced over at Buri, and shuddered. Fear lay behind Buri's brown gaze, too, no matter how hard the woman tried to hide it.   
  
Indeed, they both had good reason to be terrified. Nothing of this magnitude could ever have been anticipated, possibly not by ten Seers. If it had been, they had neglected to inform their Queen of it.  
  
Her beautiful, precious daughter was most likely dead. The half-Kmir breathed in shakily, holding back the tears. How could they have been duped like that? How could the gods have allowed it?  
  
She rubbed her temples tiredly. Always so tired lately. Sleep beckoned to her, invited her with wide, welcoming arms. It would be nice to sleep, she thought idly. So nice to just lay down and rest. Dream through this whole nightmare. Reluctantly, she shook herself out of sleep's longed-for grip. She had a country to protect. A country which was already falling into chaos.  
  
Buri crept closer to her Queen, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right," she whispered.  
  
Thayet flinched at the human contact, and glared at her friend. "Don't lie to me," she hissed back. "How _can it?"  
_  
The Commander withdrew slightly, disliking Thayet's tone, but understanding that she was in pain, even though she couldn't empathise. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Maybe Numair..."  
  
"Is dead?" Thayet supplied helpfully. "Maybe they're all dead. Jon, Daine, Numair, that Gallan king that vanished-" Her voice broke slightly on the last name, but she forced it out anyway - "Kally. Maybe they're all with the Black God."  
  
Determination flooded Buri's face. She wasn't succumbing to the aching despair that ate at her Queen.  "Alanna, then."  
  
Thayet laughed harshly, a hollow, empty sound that frightened Buri more than the suggestion of death. "Oh, yes, the mighty Lioness, who storms off whenever she gets offended. She's a wonderful Champion, have I ever told you that? Simply legendary! Such _loyalty_ must surely be unsurpassed anywhere. It's truly admirable."  
  
Buri brushed off the sarcasm. "You're not going to let him take over." It was a statement, an order. The familiarity touched a smile to Thayet's lips. Nobody had ordered her around for years. Come to think of it, the last person to have issued her an order was probably Buri herself. "We'll get your country back." Her eyes were fierce, and she clamped a hand to her sword.  
  
Thayet briefly wondered what comfort these warrior women found in weapons, and wished she had been able to continue fighting with the Riders. Buri's view of the world was how she viewed battle. Life had to be planned, otherwise something would go awry. Difficulties were only for overcoming, for making a person stronger. Right now, Thayet could use that perspective. Right now, Tortall could use it.  
  
"I won't let him take over," she said, tasting the words. She smiled slowly. "I won't let him take over."


	11. floating away on a cloud of sleep

_Floating.__ She was floating on a misty cloud. Tendrils of smoke curled through the air. She reached out towards them, but they simply danced out of reach, still winding their way through the room.  
  
It was nice here. Nice and quiet, no thoughts reaching to crowd her in their complications. She couldn't remember what had been filling her mind, and didn't know why it was so empty now, but what did mere details like that matter in a world where colours were not so stark against each other and blurred together as friends? Nothing seemed so harsh. Or cruel. She remembered cruelty, remembered its bitter tang, and the desire for revenge, to curse the afflicter with the same pain. No, she was better off without that.  
  
She couldn't quite work out what she felt. Anger? No red-hot rage sought to devour her from within, to soak her in its fiery blaze. She didn't need anger. Happiness? Not that either. If she had to put a name to her emotions, she would label them 'peaceful'. Nothing bothered her. Nothing occupied her mind save her searching for something to occupy it. But there was something else, something that she couldn't name as she stumbled around the room, attempting to find something whole, something that stayed in the same place that she could hold onto. The mixing of colour into colour was starting to confuse her. Where did one thing end and the other begin?   
  
She fumbled about like an elderly, blind woman for a few minutes, and then she saw it. She couldn't understand why she hadn't seen it before. It was a sharp image against the blurs of the rest of the world. A moment or two passed before she recognised what it was.   
  
A horrified scream tore out of her throat. It didn't sound like her voice. Neither did the terrified shriek of, "SNAKE!"  
  
*  
  
_I couldn't believe it. Absolutely _typical.__  
_  
I'd worked for the man loyally, unquestioningly (most of the time) for eight whole years, and how does he shower me with thanks and gratitude for achieving all our hopes and dreams?  
  
By locking me up the minute some stupid pox-rotted commoner blinks twice at him, and then screeches 'snake' in my face. She'll be his undoing. I did warn him. I did try, but he is blind and deaf to anything that he sees as a slight on his precious Veralidaine Sarrasri.  
  
Honestly. I expected a smile, perhaps small praise, _something_ for blowing that powder in the WildMage's face and stopping her from setting that wretched dragon on us. A few years ago, I stumbled across a hedgewitch living in squalor, somewhere in Corus. In exchange for a little money, drink and thanks, she bestowed me with gifts of poison, concutions to addle the mind and a dagger. I treasured them all and kept them carefully until now. The man appreciated nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
I decided that Ozorne would be very fortunate if he were not on the receiving end of one of my more fatal, preferably slower acting potions, ignoring the fact that it was unlikely that I'd get out of here in the near future. I might, however, forgive him if he came on bended knee and offered me half the kingdom.  
  
As the night drew on, it became increasingly obvious that he was not going to come, on bended knee or otherwise. I huddled myself against the cold into as small a ball as I could with regard to my bonds, and waited some more. Always waiting these days. Waiting for somebody else to take charge, to complete their move.  
  
Unfortunately, I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter.

*

_A small girl, curled up in a bed much too large for her, is lost beneath the covers, drowning in this finery that chance brought her. Yet, she is all alone. No friend to laugh with, no brothers and sisters to tease, no mother and father to hug. Only those that she took from another care for her now. She wraps the covers tighter around her, as if their warmth will stop the cold sweeping its path through her heart. They don't. She remains all alone. No mother, peering round the doorway to check that she sleeps soundly. Even her stolen mother doesn't care about her, is dancing below, smile gracing her beautiful face, twirling, swirling, leaving her daughter behind.  
   
She whimpers slightly, all alone in this plot of intrigues and lies. Nobody to care for her.  
  
Almost as if she can sense the boy watching her from miles away, she sits up, allowing the covers to fall away, and their gazes meet. Hers filled with longing and loneliness, his with loss and tears.  
  
Slowly, like her covers, the scene drags away. She cocks her head slightly, but it is not her that the focus is on any more. She fades out, out of memory. She is always left wanting.  
  
A young boy sits on a throne. He is uncomfortable in this rigid position, and his arm itches. He longs to run outside where he knows all the young children are playing. His duty confines him, duty that came to him at the price of death. This is his throne by right, but he doesn't want it.  
  
His mother is somewhere behind him, and he wants to turn and see comfort lingering in her blue gaze, but knows he will not find any. Nothing has been in her eyes but agony and the beginnings of madness for months.  
  
Without a mother's reassurance, he turns his steady gaze to the front, searching for somebody to rely on. He finds nothing at first, and then a pair of sparkling blue eyes swims before his vision. His head, weighed down by the crown upon it, snaps from side to side, looking for their owner, before he realises that the eyes no longer sparkle, but plead for the release of torture. Those eyes are bloodshot, yet firm, and he holds the gaze to him. When the court scene begins to grow fainter, he doesn't notice, so intent is he on those eyes.  
  
A hand shoots towards him, and he becomes himself again, shaken suddenly back into his own body. The hand is not for him, it is for the little girl with the sapphire eyes, shrieking with pain, and begging to be left alone.  
  
The man is unrelenting in his determination to have revenge on the dark-haired girl who is an innocent. Revenge was supposed to taste so sweet, but not for the girl. His revenge tasted like blood at the back of her mouth, rumbling hunger in her stomach and tears in her throat.  
  
All she wants to do is be left alone. Alone is what the girl in the large bed despises, and alone is what the young boy feels. In truth, they are all alone, yet surrounded by people. But, in truth, they are all together, bound together by their differences as well as their similarities. Bound by dreams if not by life. Bound together. Forever.  
  
*  
_  
A boy stirred, Josua by name. Sleepily, he blinked, eyes slowly beginning to focus as they found the Champion of Tortall, asleep beside him. He snorted at what she had been reduced to, at what they had both been reduced to. None of the tales of their success would give an account of this moment. Nobody would want to hear of heroes sleeping in the dirt. He rolled his eyes in vague amusement as soon as the thought had crossed his mind. He wasn't a hero. He was just trying to get home. The dream lay at the back of his mind, probing him gently. He could not find himself in that dream, and hoped that no one else would.  
  
Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position. They were now only two days ride from Corus by his reckoning. His thoughts turned to a girl wistfully, wondering what had become of her, wondering if he would ever see her again.  
  
*  
  
The girl, Arabella, at that moment sat, twirling her long, blonde hair idly. "I had another dream," she remarked to the man lounging opposite her. Interest kindled in his eyes as he sat up straight. She held her hand up to ward off the bubble of questions she knew were coming. "There were three children. A boy, and two girls." Carefully, she rubbed her arm. "They were young, around ten or so. Royalty, two of them, or so it seemed. A girl in a bedroom filled with riches that she had not imagined, a boy on a throne, crown topping his head, and a girl in a stone room."  
  
His black eyes sparked slightly. "Do you think you're having their dreams?" he enquired, excitement in his tone. "What else happened there? They are the girls, aren't they?"  
  
A smile jerked to her lips at the thought that he was acting like a little boy. It hadn't entered her mind, when the tales of his miracles had reached Galla. She hadn't thought he'd be human. But then, kings weren't supposed to be human, and she, better than anyone, knew they were. Her face tightened, and she ran a hand through her hair. "I think I'm in too deep," she confessed. "I think – I don't think I can get out. It's like we're-" She shifted slightly, so she was in an upright position. He mimicked her action, leaning in, concern written into his expression. "It's – it's like we're _tangled_ together." She spread her hands, helplessly, unable to express the torrent of emotion that had infiltrated her during her sleeping hours, unable to give voice to the selfish thought that she wanted her secrets, and she didn't want them to have her past. Eventually, she settled for repeating, "I'm in too deep."

  
*  
  
That thought was echoed by the only occupant of a small room. She shivered slightly, alone. More alone than she had been in years. She was also in too deep in this plot of lies and deceit, with no way to get out.  
  
Except death.

But even that option was slowly drifting away from her.


	12. legends crumble to dust

_The stench of death clung to everything. Everything she had once known was now tainted with dirty, ugly death.  
  
She had known before she rounded the corner what she would find. Knowing it didn't make the pain any better. It didn't stop the agony tearing its way through her, nor the hollowness filling her from the inside.  
  
Hopelessly, she shook her mother's lifeless form. "Wake up," she moaned. "Wake up."  
  
The corpse did not reply, would not reply, no matter how she shook it. Her mother's eyes stared up at her, beautiful, blank, devoid of life. The girl's mouth trembled, and she resumed her shaking, as if she could shake life back into her. "Wake up," she pleaded desperately, wiping tears from her eyes. "Ma, come on, wake up."  
  
She closed her eyes, biting her lip and struggling to comprehend. "Please, Ma," she whispered. "Please. You can't leave me alone."  
  
Any second, her mother would stir, she was sure of it. Awaken slowly from a deep dream, and smile. Maybe it was a game, albeit not a funny one. Her Ma liked to play games occasionally. She'd just have to wait, that's all. Ma was still alive, she had to be. It would all be over soon, leaving a faded memory in its place. And next time, she wouldn't go. Next time, she wouldn't leave Ma, not even for a second.  
  
She squeezed her lids shut tightly, and then opened them again. Ma still didn't move, now and forevermore lost in an eternal sleep.  
  
It would just take a little longer, that was all. Ma wasn't dead, she wouldn't die. She was all she had. She wouldn't leave her daughter with nothing at all.  
  
The slight brunette crossed her legs, tailor-style, and waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
In vain._  
_  
*  
  
_A hot waterfall of tears spilled over my cheeks as I awoke. I brushed them away hastily, but more took their place. The agony of the young girl filled my chest, burning inside of me, and I couldn't stop it.  
  
"Arabella?" my companion asked hesitantly, rising from his seat. He had been awake, of course, there was little rest for him these days, as evident by the dark shadows under his eyes. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
I sniffed slightly, trying to calm myself. "No," I said quickly, wincing at the weakness of my voice. "Nothing whatsoever." It was a lie. Everything was wrong. This place was wrong. I was wrong. My dreams were wrong.  
  
Numair gave me a suspicious look, and black light streamed from his fingers to enclose the room in its darkness. "Now what is it?"  
  
I frowned at my hands, concentrating on them to stop the flood of tears from erupting again. "There was a girl, a young one. I didn't recognise her. It wasn't either of them, that's for sure. She looked about twelve, thirteen. Brown hair."  
  
He sighed impatiently. "Arabella, haven't you been taught to report better than that? I don't need a physical description, I need details!" His eyes flickered with some warning; I assumed that there must be something else in the room, something that would pick up on my description of her.  
  
"With a name like Arabella, it's not surprising that I don't remember what I've been taught," I muttered sullenly. He smiled grimly at that, but made no further comment, impatient for me to continue so he could set his mind to who the new girl was, and what her part to play in this was. "Her mother-" I choked slightly, as grief welled up within me. I took in a deep breath, and calmed myself. She was not my mother. I had not known either of them. That too was a lie, of course. In that dream, I had discovered everything about her. She was... My eyes rounded with astonishment. No, she couldn't be. This was going to make it very difficult to tell him.  
  
"Yes?" he prompted, irritation simmering in his tone. "Her mother what?"  
  
I closed my eyes, but the dead body was imprinted behind my lids, so I opened them again, staring at the wall opposite and trying to concentrate on it. "Was dead. In front of her. Bandits. Wolves. Farm dead, everything dead. Everything but her, and her pony." Even the bare details stirred something inside me.  
  
He made a violent exclamation, one that made me start. "The father, what of her father?"  
  
I raised my brows at him, managing to compose myself somewhat. "I don't recall mentioning a father, Master Enfell," I said promptly.  
  
"What of the father?" he growled in reply.  
  
I was startled into a response. "No father. There was never a father. Not for her. Ma-" I choked slightly, correcting myself. "_Her_ Ma never mentioned him."  
  
He leapt up at that, knocking his chair over. "That's it. We're leaving," he snapped, tone commanding me not to respond. "Get your things together."  
  
There was nothing else for me to do but obey.

_*_

_Tortall.__   
  
Once land of the free. Once, land of legends, heroes, bravery. Renowned throughout the Eastern Lands.   
  
Oh, Tortall was a fine country.   
  
Once.   
  
Tortall.   
  
Now the land of the bandits, the rogues, the criminals. Now the land of the poor, the needy, the hungry. Now the country to be avoided by all others of the Eastern Lands.   
  
A young boy sits, rocking gently on the wall on which he is perched. This was his country. This is what has become of it. His head reels with the unfairness of it all.  
  
"I'll have it back, Ozorne," he vows quietly. "All of it."_  
  
*  
  
His vow wouldn't have mattered one bit to the regal figure reclining on his golden chair. "Dearest, won't you have a seat?" he asked mockingly, indicating a similar but smaller and less ornate chair on his right.   
  
She rolled her hazel eyes towards the ceiling. "I would rather die," she snarled at him.   
  
"I admire your spirit," Ozorne informed her (and reminded himself) through gritted teeth. "But death isn't in the plans. At least, not_ your _death."   
  
She let out a harsh laugh at that. Of course it wasn't. Her death would have given her freedom. Freedom wasn't something that the former Carthaki Emperor was accustomed to granting. "Face it. You're never going to find him. He's too strong for you."   
  
Ozorne leapt to his feet, shaking the woman violently. "Never say that again!" he roared.   
  
She tugged herself free, a thin smile playing over her lips as she wiped spittle from her otherwise perfect face. "He's too strong for you," she repeated, daring him to lose control.   
  
Perfection like no other, surely she should be the jewel to perfect his crown. But no. This temperamental fiend hid underneath the beauty. The argument was a long repeated one. Sometimes it changed words, but the underlying pattern was always the same.   
  
He knew how to get back at her, though. "You know, you remind me of your daughter. The one I killed."   
  
Her face twisted up with fresh agony. People who formed emotional attachments could be so easily abused by them. He had learnt that early on. "I hope Numair kills you," she breathed spitefully. "And I hope I'm there to watch."   
  
A shadowy figure slammed through the door, anger burning in his expression. "Time's up, Ozorne," he snarled. "Give her back." 

It looked like she was going to get her wish, and sooner than she had hoped for.


	13. pure incidental things

_Little things.  
  
Everybody notices the huge events that envelop entire countries in the changes they demand. The little things that creep past unnoticed can slowly gather in number until, years later, people finally detect change, yet cannot pinpoint its origin.  
  
Those changes were stirring in Tortall. A whisper, a scrawled note, a secret meeting that nobody spoke of again. Hope given to those who had lost it. Hope returned to Tortall.  
  
All the changes were due to one person, sitting tailor fashion at the bottom of a tree. He was surrounded by hastily written letters, declarations of help and advice and his eyes were beginning to grow sore from trying to understand the letters – not all the writers were entirely literate or able to write in comprehendible Common. A grin slowly lit the boy's face as he reached the end of the final piece of parchment. His luck was beginning to change. Carefully, he piled all the letters together and bound them with a blue ribbon. He stuffed them into a large bag.  
  
"This is for you, Kally. It's all for you."  
  
*  
  
_The sound of footsteps echoed in my ears as I jerked awake. I struggled to work out if they were remnants of my dream, or if they belonged to the present and my beautiful prison. They puzzled me, I had been dreaming of a boy filled with happiness after so much sorrow. No footsteps had entered my sleeping mind. There must be someone in the room with me.  
  
But who? Ozorne hadn't visited me and I hardly saw him bothering now. The servant who brought my meals had come perhaps an hour ago. The passing of time was hazy to me; it all merged together eventually and became insignificant. It must be somebody else, but I couldn't think who would trouble themselves to visit me, the disgraced traitor of traitors, unless...  
  
I didn't dare to even breathe, but I found myself taking quick, shallow breaths regardless. I was as good as dead anyway, what did it matter if I went today by an assassin or in a year by the gallows?  
  
My body stiffened as I felt cold steel press against my wrists. This was it. If death didn't matter, why did my stomach clench in fear? I tensed, waiting for that fatal blow. I was ready. I was ready for death.  
  
I felt the bonds around my hands loosen and fall away. Bewildered, I stared at my hands, unable to comprehend their freedom.  
  
"Hello," a voice said icily. It belonged to a boy, perhaps a year older than me. His appearance was unkempt, but I didn't have time to dwell on that. The glimmer of metal at his side drew my eyes instinctively and I leaned backwards. "I don't believe we've met."

*

_"It's lost."_

_Murmurs of agreement pressed in from all sides. All was lost, why bother with it anymore? Already they had wasted too much time on it – and what had come of that? Leave the mortals to sort it out alone._

_She could see their reasoning, understood that if it had been any other country, she would have felt the same, would have joined her voice to the masses and abandoned the denizens to fend for themselves. But it wasn't any other country. She couldn't desert them, not now, probably not ever._

_Emerald eyes swept over the room. "No," she said softly, coldly. A hush swept over the room as the attention fixed on her. She continued in the same frosty tones, "You do not decide what happens to it."_

_Somebody laughed, harshly. "That's typical." She strained to see who spoke, striving to retain the same cool air as she did so. "You're always the same. Won't lift a finger to help anybody else's country, and have the cheek to decide when to dismiss issues, even when you hold no authority over them."_

_She dropped her gaze, fighting for an aloof tone. Anger would not help her now. Anger would let them see that they had the advantage over her. "If you care to remember, it is this country that has helped us in the past."_

_"She's right," croaked a new voice. The Graveyard Hag. Her intervention was usually not sought after – all remembered what had happened to _her_ country. But in this case, it may be precisely what Tortall needed. If the Goddess had breath, she would have held it. "I say we help them." A clamour arose at this, but the crone held up a gnarled finger and it silenced, instantly. "Once more." Heads nodded, satisfied._

_The dark-haired immortal opened her mouth in protest, but closed it abruptly as the old woman hobbled over, peering up into the Goddess' face. "Once," she repeated. "No more."_

_Reluctantly, she nodded. It would have to do. "Fine," she whispered. Then, raising her voice so those collected could hear, she announced, "But I get to choose how and who we help." Not waiting for a response, she swept out of the room._

_*_

The boy sat astride the bough of the tree as if it were his throne. In fact, that was exactly what he was pretending it was. He leapt down, brandishing a twig as though it was a sword. 

"Ozorne!" he called in a deep, affected voice. "I have come for you!"

Switching voices, to a high falsetto (admittedly because he had no idea what Ozorne's voice actually sounded like, but it must be fairly girly, he reasoned, remembering the tales of the old Emperor's face paint fetish), he squeaked, "Oh no! What are you going to do to me?"

He paused for a second. What _was_ he going to do to Ozorne? A brief flashback to one of his sister's many novels gave him his response. "I have come to avenge my family," he said grandly, and then poked the stick at where "Ozorne" was standing. "Now, uh..." He trailed off, waving the stick in the air as though it would give him inspiration. "I condemn you, uh..."

He decided to move on, figuring that the ends of the sentences would come to him on the spur of the moment. Heroes always had the right words to say. It was the villains who stumbled and stuttered, their plans thwarted at the crucial moment. "Oh no, please don't, I'll do anything!"

Then Ozorne dissolved into a messy puddle and the palace servants mopped him up. He envisioned being raised high on the shoulders of the crowd, all who praised him and adored him for freeing them of this tyrant. Roses would be flung at him from adoring girls, and handkerchiefs would be stuffed into every conceivable place. The practicality of this was questionable, but Lianne had informed him that this was standard treatment for a hero.

And what a hero he would be, when he reduced Ozorne to a cowering wreck, and –

"Liam?"

The boy, who had begun to climb up the tree again, instantly slid down the trunk, searching around frantically for the owner of the voice. "Mother?" he asked tentatively, although he knew it couldn't be her. It was impossible, but, oh, he wanted to see her again so badly that it _must_ be her.

"In a way," was his reply, and he could hear amusement mixing in with the harsh throb her voice made in his ears.

He eyed her cautiously, and then bowed low to her, murmuring, "Lady," for her high peerage was obvious to anyone with eyes. Besides, he had been raised to offer respect to everybody. He felt the pressure of her fingertips, icy as snow, on his chin as she raised it so he was looking directly into her eyes. All the breath left his body at the power in her gaze.

She obviously saw in his eyes what she wanted. "Yes," she whispered, and in her tone he heard triumph mingled with pain. "My son, I require your help."

"Anything," he said breathlessly, meaning it with all the passion of his young years. Thoughts of victory were discarded, nothing mattered except her will. Had she declared that the only way he could help her would be to throw himself off a cliff, he would have soared off the nearest one.

Warmth filled her green eyes. "You bring me hope, little one." A smile crossed her face as he bristled, considering himself almost grown up. "And I have longed for hope for months now."

Solemnly, he accepted this. "What can I do?"


	14. veiled and unveiled surprises

_When the men first marched into Tortall, it seemed at first to be a dream. A nightmarish dream, to be sure, but a dream all the same._

_They strode about in their cool colours, loyal to the usurper, ready to make examples of those who proclaimed they weren't, and would never be._

_Protesters burned in cages. They hung from trees. They were cut up and displayed on the palace walls, for all to see, and for all to shudder at and declare they would never end up like._

_Still, it was better to die in this way than to be ripped to pieces in the sky by Stormwings. Better by far to be killed by men than to be half-eaten and then discarded, left to bleed to death by hurroks._

_From this, the people of Tortall learned the art of secrecy. The invaders were pleased that their brutal tactics appeared to have worked and, in truth, they had. Those who remained were more cowardly, too afraid of the consequences to themselves and their family to rebel. Until, that is, whispers of a surviving Conté prince reached their ears._

_Prince Liam breathed new hope into a now cautious and suspicious uprising. United by a common fear, they whispered and tiptoed around, meeting, although only occasionally. They would not be beaten. Plans were carefully constructed, ideas shared, dates and deaths decided on._

_The people of Tortall would not long be governed by fear and pain. The heart of Tortall had been broken, but not its spirit._

_Now, when soldiers swaggered about the streets, cocky and overconfident, the denizens would bow and obey their slightest whim. But only because they knew what was coming. Only because King Ozorne would soon fall._

  
*  
  
Something had changed since the last time they'd met. Something, something that couldn't be defined. He narrowed his gold-tinged eyes, considering, but was unable to decide on exactly what it was.  
  
"I mean it," continued the dark-haired man. "I want her back. Now." Anger crackled from his tone, it was a cloak of emotion around him.  
  
The corners of Ozorne's mouth slowly curled up into a smile. He knew what it was now. "We are unaware of whatever it is that you refer to," he said comfortably, sitting down on the ornate chair. "Now, perhaps it has escaped your attention, but we believe that you are disturbing the imperial presence. Please remove yourself immediately, or we will get someone to remove you for us."  
  
Something flickered in Numair's face. "Stop it," he rapped out.  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Acting like you were born to the throne. We both know that nobody ever intended for a weakling like you to rule. In fact," he continued, allowing mockery to enter his tone, "even the Stormwings know it, don't they? You couldn't even rule a stench-ridden bunch of animals."  
  
Rage surged within him. After all Ozorne had done for him, this was the thanks. No respect for Carthak's rightful monarch, oh no. No respect for the man who had _pardoned him_. It could be considered oddly convenient how quickly Ozorne had forgotten that execution order. "I am not the one who fled the country. I am not the one who lets _females_ do his fighting for him."  
  
"And I," his old friend replied quietly, "am not the one who steals, bribes and murders just to get breakfast."  
  
For a moment or two, Ozorne was silent, trying to work out a retort that would suitably silence Draper, and debating whether to just organise his death by hanging this time. And, of course, making sure they hung a real person this time. "But unfortunately you are not the one with Veralidaine Sarrasri either," he answered triumphantly.  
  
Numair's face darkened. "Give her back," he gritted out menacingly, allowing a black light to bloom around his raised left hand.  
  
Ozorne allowed a smirk to rise to his lips, which vanished as he realised that - "She's gone!" he exclaimed, eyes darting around the room feverishly and then fixing on the door. The open door.  
  
Numair froze. "What?" he hissed, fists clenching and the light dissipating instantly. He moved to block Ozorne's exit. "What have you done to Daine?"  
  
"Not _her_," the Carthaki snarled. "The other one. Thayet. She's gone."

*

_It was funny. They'd never even met._

_Never seen each other, greeted each other, written to each other. Never heard the sound of each other's voice, nor the warmth of the other's laughter._

_It was funny. One had taken over the other's life._

_Never had a family before, been admired by so many before, owned so much before. Never had her feet kissed in the street before, had cloaks swept off and laid underfoot so her shoes didn't get muddy as she walked over puddles._

_It was funny. They knew so much of each other._

_But they'd never even met._

_*_

"No, I-I-I d-don't believe we have," she stammered nervously, eyes fixed to my hand. Or, more specifically, the dagger that my hand was clamped around as though my life depended on it.

I looked at her contemptuously. "Funny, that, don't you think?" I stated coldly, moving backwards to sit cross-legged on the bed. Ridiculous. She betrayed him, and got locked in a comfortable bedroom. My only fault was being born into a royal family, and look what had happened to me. I hardly called that fair, but I suppose they never intended anything to be fair for me.

"How do you mean?" she asked, looking like a rabbit caught in a trap. My trap. And oh, how I intended to enjoy this trap.

I shrugged her question off. She would understand later. "Let's start with your name. If we're going to meet at last, we might as well do it properly." My air was all ease and comfort, but I had not managed to successfully keep the anger out of my tone. There was too much of it to keep under control.

She brought her trembling fingers up to her face, gingerly checking her bruised skin. When she was confident that nothing was broken, she answered me. "Kalasin," she mumbled quietly, then, settling herself back in her seat, and resuming an authoritative manner, she repeated, "Kalasin, of Conté."

"Your name, please," I shot back promptly, eyes boring into hers.

"Kalasin of Conté," she answered again, looking puzzled, but trembling slightly now.

Oh, she was good. A very good actress, but then she was practised at this role. Part of me almost felt like applauding her efforts. Of course, the other part very definitely felt like slapping her.

I lunged forward in one swift movement and placed my hands on the arms of her chair, leaning over her. She was shaking now, eyes constantly darting to my dagger. "The truth," I snarled, so close I could hear her ragged intakes of breath.

"It-"

I cut her off. "Isn't," I growled, "and I, of all people, know that."

She inched backwards in her seat, unable to unlock our gazes. I could almost smell her fear, and it made me sick to my stomach. "Why _you_?" she demanded, regaining her haughty position momentarily. "Just who do you think you are?"

Perfect. I smirked slowly, confidently, a hunter trapping its prey. I had her. "Princess Kalasin of Conté," I replied instantly.


	15. joker in the pack

_The Hag snarled. "Stupid," she growled, rapping her stick on the ground. She exhaled huffily. "Not how I would have done it at all. But nobody ever thinks to ask me. Oh, no, they're all too good to ask for help from the Graveyard Hag, who managed to save her own country."_

_"And nearly ruined it before that," pointed out an amused sounding voice. Its owner was even more amusing, with a set of antlers protruding from his skull and his skin a bizarre combination of greens and browns._

_The elderly crone rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Weiryn? Quickly, I don't have much time!"_

_Serious now, the hunt god crossed the room. "I want my daughter safe. I want that cretin in the Dark Realms, and I want him to stay there this time."_

_"And I want to know why you're telling me this," snapped the Hag, planting her staff in front of her and leaning her weight on it. "It's impossible. It's out of our hands."_

_"Is it?" Weiryn asked carefully. "What of -" He indulged in a brief smile - "Lady Arabella?"_

_Impatiently, the crone tapped her stick against the floor. "What of... _her_?" she demanded tightly._

_"Exactly," was the prompt reply. "Nobody cares to consider her. I believe she may be the key."_

_The woman looked disgusted. "You've spent too long with your head above the clouds," she informed him scornfully. "Have you forgotten who she is?"_

_"And have you forgotten where she comes from?" retorted Weiryn promptly. "It's not Tortall, therefore it couldn't be considered interference. She has displayed many traits that would suggest her to be a diplomatic genius. Perhaps you would care to remember her treatment of Master... Enfell?"_

_A slow grin began on the Hag's face. "I think you might have something there."_

_*_

"Pieces in a chess game," I murmured to myself. "That's all they are."

I shivered slightly, pulling my rug tighter around me as the dying fire shaped the shadows of the room. Perhaps warmth would bring me the ideas that I needed, help me to connect these pieces. 

I brushed my blonde hair from my face, carefully considering the board before me. Players, that was it.

The first piece was mine. Arabella Laiha. What would I do? Months ago, I had been so certain of my purpose in life, now I struggled with simple decisions. The fate of another's country lay in my hands. I was currently the favoured of gods, although few Tortallans had even seen my face. Why I alone had been singled out baffled me, but I was not one to argue with easily angered deities.

I regarded my red-headed knight. Alanna the Lioness. What would I make of her? Proud, stubborn, temperamental, she might prove more a hindrance than a help. She would need constant checking, but she was a wonder in battle, something that apparently even rumour was no match for. I pushed her aside for the moment.

Thayet the Peerless. Unless she was going to stun somebody with her incredible beauty, she wasn't going to be much good. I sighed, hand hovering over her figure, running through stories of the Queen leading troops into battle in my mind and wondering whether I could rely on them. For now, at least, I placed her next to the King's Champion, commending myself on my ruthless decision making and excellent progress.

Veralidaine Sarrasri was unfortunately out of action, as I had been informed by the Graveyard Hag herself. Still, it would be important to keep her safe so that she didn't affect my next player.

Numair Salmalín? What use would he bring me? I gritted my teeth slightly, suppressing the anger within me. Not follow orders, that was what. Sulk and protest when commanded, then run off and do his own thing anyway. Powerful mage, powerful_ nuisance._

Lianne and Jasson were too young to be involved, and I thanked Mithros that they hadn't been harmed in any way. I couldn't remove their protectors, not after what had happened to the other three Conté children. Roald was dead, Kalasin... well. And Liam had vanished off the face of the Mortal Realms.

Or had he? I reached my next figurine. Liam of Conté, it was marked. A slow smile tugged at my lips. This must be the Liam that the Hag had warned the Goddess had marked out for her own plans. I set him aside from the others.

The impostor. Princess pretender. Oh, she had many names in my mind, none of them favourable. My fingers itched to pull her apart now, but I couldn't, not yet. Time enough for that later.

I scoured the board for the real Princess Kalasin. My heart skipped a beat when I realised she was absent. Did this mean the gods didn't intend for her to take part, or did it mean...? I gulped and closed my eyes, deciding to move on.

I didn't recognise the next figure, though his plaque proclaimed him to be Josua Taylor. I considered him through narrowed eyes, drumming my fingers on the table. Somebody I could deal with later.

I searched the board again. There was still no Kalasin.

Where had she gone?

*

_Promising, all so promising._

_So much promise, gone to waste._

_Momentarily, the portrait of Princess Kalasin became animated, infused with an imitation of life. The features blurred, creases folded into her face. Her hair lengthened, darkened, streaked with grey. She became taller. Plumper. Older. A crown set upon her head, too heavy to sit there long. She sat still, almost too still. Watching -  or waiting… Silently. Alone._

_There was a motion beside her. The swarthy man moved, graceful in his mature years. Greying at his temples, but it did not seem to matter to him. His wrinkles did not bother him. Old without being ancient, stiff without creaking. _

_Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, Emperor of Carthak, was who she was destined for._

_She would have never wanted for anything._

_And yet, as she sat on the throne, rich beyond her wildest dreams, married to a loyal, respected man, empress of a vast country, she still felt… discontent. She still felt as though she was not meant to be there._

_*_

The time for brooding was at an end. I packed up my chess-set and glanced around the room, searching for anything of value. There was nothing that could not be replaced when this comedy of errors reached its finale.

I drew my hood over my blonde locks, careful not to muss them and set out for the palace.

*

"Sorry, ma'am. We've orders not to let anyone past."

I struggled to hide my frustration. "My master will _not_ be pleased to find how I have been treated!" I declared indignantly, stamping my foot on the ground. When they merely shrugged, I turned on my heel and stormed off, full of feminine indignation and not entirely sure what I was going to do now.

"You seem awful eager to deliver a _game_," observed a voice coolly.

I winced and stopped. "So would you be if you saw the game!" I declared, wishing that I had been able to think up a better excuse. "I happen to serve a master craftsman!"

"Show me it then," the stranger suggested, only his eyes, though not the colour, visible beneath his thick hood. He was short, much shorter than me. It was hardly necessary to draw myself up to my full height, but I did so anyway, needing any comfort I could find, even if it was only a small one.

"This game is intended for the Emperor himself." 

He coughed – or perhaps laughed. "Then you should not be ashamed to show it off."

I hugged my arms tighter around the board, narrowing my eyes speculatively at the man. "Perhaps I do not want to show it off to someone who does not wish me to see his face," I replied evenly.

This time, I heard his laugh clearly. "Pray, then tell me the name of your master so that I might see some of his work. Or do all prospective customers need to be judged on their appearances?"

He was mocking me. I decided to ignore it. "Then you refuse to remove your hood?"

"I do," was the prompt reply. No sound of a chuckle this time.

I swallowed tightly, preparing to gamble on the chance that he didn't want to be discovered and hoping desperately that he had no knife. "You can't be too careful, wandering these woods," I said casually. "Nobody knows who they might meet. It's a good thing that the palace is so heavily guarded." I kept my eyes trained on the snow, breathing in deeply before I delivered my blow. "Guards within earshot, too, certain to hear a scream if a lady were to happen across somebody… unsavoury."

He inhaled sharply. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing of consequence," I answered, with far more ease than I felt. The bottom of my stomach seemed to have dropped away. What had I been thinking? I was defenceless, and those guards certainly wouldn't bother coming to my rescue even if I did call out.

"One _might_ consider the fact that, out of the two of us, I was the one able to gain access to the palace," he informed me smugly. "Besides, I don't appear to be the only one with a hood on here."

I cursed my lack of foresight. "A gentleman would realise that the scandal that would result from the removal of a lady's hood with no chaperon around."

There was a pause. He tilted his head to one side, considering something, and then let the hood fall back. "So you see, we are both women."

I flushed.

*

It was quiet as we ran to where she claimed Josua had gone. I fired questions at her, noting her avoidance of many issues. She still didn't believe who I was, although the extraordinary chess pieces had convinced her enough to take me to her charge.

Suddenly, the echo of laughter bounded down the corridor. I frowned slightly, and picked up my pace, hampered by my skirts.

"I am!"

The voice came from the room to my left. I noticed with apprehension the limp, bloodstained bodies by the door. They were not a comforting sight.

"You expect me to believe that you're Princess Kalasin?" asked a scornful voice, clearly audible despite the thick wooden door.

Kalasin! She was alive!

Pulling free of the Lioness, who had gripped my arm at the mention of the princess, I burst through the door.


	16. revelations of an unanticipated kind

_Monsters.__  
  
__Isis__ had seen monsters before. Twisted creatures, with deformed bodies, their faces coming straight from nightmares. They weren't even intended to be in the Mortal Realms. They acted without conscience, without thought. Without reason.  
  
Nobody could change monsters. And so they had to be killed. Because there was nothing else to be done with them. Even if they hadn't attacked anybody yet. Because that was their plan. To attack. They were just waiting, biding their time, waiting to attack. Her mother had told her so and therefore it must be true._

_Monsters weren't supposed to be people. They weren't supposed to be capable of logic thought, of acting in a brutal fashion without care or consideration for others. They weren't supposed to kill your mother in front of you._

_Monsters weren't supposed to have faces. They weren't supposed to have families. You weren't supposed to know them, to hear their names brought up in casual conversations. You weren't supposed to turn into one._

_But she had._

_Monsters.__ People. Somehow the lines between each had become dim._

*

My head snapped up at the entrance of yet more people. Wonderful, nobody visits in weeks, and then everybody comes at once. "Who are _you_?" I sneered, fighting to regain control of the situation. I was supposed to be in charge, after all. I sat upright in my chair, aiming for an air of royal indifference. I was Princess Kalasin – or, at least, everybody was supposed to think I was – but not even Sir Alanna bothered to give me more than a second glance.

"King Lagne Halai of Galla," was my reply, announced imperiously.

I felt my mouth drop open in shock. After struggling to work out whether I had heard correctly, I succumbed to laughter, holding my sides, which were by now beginning to ache. 'Lagne' shifted uncomfortably, and then glanced at 'Kalasin'.

"Who are you?"

Regaining my composure somewhat, I explained, "That would be Princess Kalasin," although my words were sadly somewhat less than comprehensible, given the occasional irrepressible burst of giggles.

"I'm Princess Kalasin," replied the boy, overlooking, or ignoring, the fact that I had just mentioned this. He tossed me an impatient look as he reached up and slipped a necklace over his head. My vision blurred and then doubled. I blinked rapidly, attempting to clear it, but nothing changed the fact that I was suddenly presented with the girl that I had seen in the mirror.

I shook my head. It wasn't happening. Kalasin was dead. This was a dream. My dream. My imagination. That was all.

I was vaguely aware of the Lioness kneeling, but the blonde girl who claimed to be Lagne remained standing. My attention was drawn to her as I watched her regard the boy-turned-girl with something akin to wonder. Silently, she removed her own necklace.

Suddenly, things didn't seem quite so funny.

*

"Shadows," she whispered confidentially to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth.

Numair watched her carefully, trying to ascertain whether there was a deeper meaning in that single word. If there was, he couldn't find it. He settled for agreeing with her. "Yes, sweet, shadows."

"Shadows everywhere."

The black-robed mage closed his eyes, picturing what he was going to do to Ozorne for this. "Shadows everywhere," he agreed. "Come along, sweet; let's get away from the shadows."

She withdrew from him sharply, backing into the corner. "Shadows. You're made out of them. All the shadows. Shadows. They're choking me."

The Tyran swallowed tightly. "What's choking you, love?"

He expected the answer to be merely "shadows", but in the dim light, he saw her cock her head and consider his question. Hope swelled inside him. "The air," she decided finally. "It's full of shadows."

He edged closer to her tentatively, not wanting to startle her. "Let's get rid of the shadows," he suggested, forming a ball of light in his left hand. 

She gasped, in awe – or perhaps shock – then blinked rapidly, screwing up her face and squinting at the light. "Bright," she observed.

"Yes, he croaked, fighting the urge to sweep her up into his arms. His eyes flew over her face, examining it for the slightest change, causing his brows to knit when he found traces of cuts. 

She crawled closer, and he had to clench his fist in order to keep him from reaching out and touching her roughly-cut hair. It slipped forward in front of her eyes as she uncertainly placed her hand on his wrist, entranced by the light. "Num-"

He hardly dared to breathe, lest he spoil the moment, convinced she was remembering. In a moment, she'd finish the word, his name, in a moment, it would be back to normal. In a moment.

The moment wasn't yet. She tilted her head on one side, as if she was trying to recall something. Her forehead creased and her eyebrows drew together. He would have to prompt her. "Yes, magelet?"

"Magelet. Mage. Let. Magelet." There was a pause. Then, confidently, "Me."

*

_Thayet of Tortall.__ A legend in her own right._

_Thayet the Peerless.__ No queen could match her, for either brains or beauty._

_The perfect mother.__ The perfect wife. A perfect lady, a perfect leader._

_Perfect… yet all too imperfect.__ All too unable to cope._

_Impotent.__ Weak. Fearful. She had tried to murder the usurper, and her punishment, which she was terrified would happen any day now, was to be to marry him. She had tried to lead her people into a rebellion, and her punishment was to stay alive._

_Punished to stay alive, when her children were dead, when her husband was dead, when she had nobody.__ That was the worst kind of punishment. A diamond cannot sparkle when darkness is wrapped around it._

_But the sun was about to rise over her life again._

_*_

The brunette's breathing was uneven. He was going to hear it. Desperately, she tried to calm it, and stop her heart pounding so loudly.

Thayet trembled in her hiding place. He was going to come. They'd find her, if it wasn't him, it'd be one of his guards. What would they do to her this time? What punishment could they think up, that would be worse than living when all you really wanted was death?

A thought occurred to her as she shifted back against the wall, pressing herself against it and willing herself invisible. Was this how Kally had felt? Was this how her daughter had spent all those years of her life? Dreading him, trying to run, but knowing it was useless. Knowing he'd find her anyway, anywhere, no matter where she went.

She hugged her knees closer, a tear trickling down her cheek. And they had fallen for his plan. They had made it so easy for him. Invited the girl in, let her poison them from the inside. They had been so grateful to have their little girl back that they had been willing to overlook any differences.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. She tensed, knowing this was it, knowing he had her. This was her last taste of freedom.

But the figure passed her. And – She frowned. And it was a boy. And it was an oddly familiar boy. A boy she hadn't thought she was going to see again.

"Liam?"

*

"You," he agreed softly.

She glanced up at him, looking thoughtful. "Yes. Me. You…" She frowned, forehead furrowing in concentration. "You… No. No." She squirmed away from him, uncomfortable. "Bad, no."

"What's bad, Daine?" Numair asked gently.

She rocked back and forth, hiding her head in her knees. "Bad… Leaving," she said finally. "Leaving. Bad."

He closed his eyes. Leaving. He had left. Left her when she needed him most. And that _was_ bad, very bad. "Yes," he agreed, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I left. I won't leave again. Not without you."

He didn't think she'd understand what he meant, but her head slowly came up. "Promise?" she asked.

"Promise," he said, meaning it.

She nodded, confirming something to herself, and then scrambled to her feet. She stood unsteadily, swaying slightly, and held out her hand for support. "Come. Bad snake."

Not entirely understanding, but figuring events would unfold themselves, and relieved that, at last, she appeared to be capable of logical thought, he allowed her to lead him out of the room.

*

"Snake."

"Oh Mithros," growled the girl Numair had come to know as Kalasin, shifting her chair back.  When he considered it, she looked significantly different from the Contés, especially now. Her formerly glossy hair hung limply, and it looked like she hadn't eaten in months. Good. "This is just what this gathering needed. Wonderful."

Daine hissed in reply. Then, she glanced around at the other denizens in the room, and pressed herself against Numair. "Lioness," she whispered to him. He nodded, spying the lady knight and flashing her a smile.

"How nice to finally see you again," Lagne said coolly, addressing the black-robe mage. Numair frowned, wondering what had caused him to take on his own appearance, and then suppressed a smile, noting the young man's darting glances at an unfamiliar girl. "May I enquire as to how long you will be staying this time? Or will you be struck by one of those spur-of-the-moment things again?" 

Daine raised her chin, eyeing him suspiciously. "Me. For me," she informed him simply.

His eyes dropped to her – possibly he had mistaken her for a child before; she was dwarfed by Numair's towering height – and he bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Veralidaine Sarrasri, I presume?"

Daine's eyes rounded. At first, Numair thought it was because her full name had jolted her, and she was remembering more. "Snake!" she exclaimed. "Not snake." This appeared to make perfect sense to her. She poked Numair in the side, irritated that he wasn't responding. Her other hand waved at the impostor. "She's the snake."

The snake-girl rolled her eyes. "Wonderful," she repeated dryly. "What does she do for an encore, shout 'zebra'?"

"I would have thought that you would have known that," the other girl in the room replied stiffly, speaking up at last. Belatedly, Numair realised that she must be the real Kalasin. "After all, you were the one who did this to her."


	17. and every piece has its part to play

_Kalasin eyed the bed nervously, a hot flush beginning to spread over her cheeks. She found herself unable to look at Lagne and see what he made of the situation._

_Which was why she was surprised when he brushed past her and began to arrange his cloak on the floor.___

_She decided to make light of it by playing on their long-running joke, and hopefully distract from the uncomfortably small bed in the process. "Don't you hang things up in Galla?"_

_He grinned at her, and pulled a pillow off the bed. "Of course we do, just not when we're intending to sleep on them."_

_She sank down onto the bed, mildly confused._

_Lagne bit his lip, something she had never expected the usually composed King of Galla to do, then sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. "It's easier this way," he explained. "It's what he'd expect."_

_She nodded, glancing down at their hands. "I just hope it works."_

_"It will," he assured her. "The Goddess organised it, how can it go wrong?" He squeezed her hands slightly. "Don't worry. We'll be gone in a few hours. We'll be safe in a couple of hours. He'll never find us. We have the favour of the gods, remember? With the necklaces, he won't recognise either of us. Besides, he'll think we're dead. We'll get through it, you'll see. So stop worrying."_

_Perversely, the moment he finished speaking, worries fired up in her mind. _He might guess that the bodies aren't us. He might not come. He might find us. _She didn't voice any of these, however. "We'll find out in a few hours."_

_*_

Numair's face was rapidly darkening and he took a step towards the trembling impostor. Evidently the tree stories were rapidly flashing through her mind and it was clear (to me, at least) that she wasn't eager to find out how true they were. On the contrary, I was particularly looking forward to a demonstration of the black-robe mage's power.

Her luck was in. Daine chose that moment to slump back against Numair. She looked utterly exhausted. My face twisted in sympathy for her. I wondered what my counterpart had actually done to her to make her like that. She seemed incapable of comprehending anything. With the black-robe temporarily distracted, the pretender slipped out of the door.

Alanna started after her, hand on her sword, but Lagne shook his head firmly. "Let her go," he instructed, sitting down next to me and pulling a box onto his lap. "She won't get far."

I peered over his shoulder, intrigued by the box. Perhaps it contained some sort of weapon, something that would make Ozorne cower in fear. "What's that?"

He flashed me a grin. "You'll have to wait and see, my lady."

I pulled a face at him, deciding that being a girl had _not_ been good for him. "Fine."

He unclasped a catch on the side of the box, and out tumbled a series of chess pieces. I stared in disbelief.

"That's it?" I asked scornfully. "We're going to play chess?" I knew the Gallans had a strange idea of battle plans, but this was completely unexpected.

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "How very perceptive of you, my d-" He managed to catch himself just in time. "Lady," he finished calmly, as if he had intended to say that all along, setting the board out.

I picked up one of the pieces, examining it curiously. It certainly didn't look like the chess pieces I remembered. "It says 'Numair Salmalín' on it," I observed.

Numair's head snapped up at his name. Carefully, he led Daine over to where we were seated and crouched down in order to get a better look at the pieces. "Extraordinary," he murmured. "Quite… Where did you get these?"

"A goddess," Lagne replied, face and tone entirely serious, although I had my doubts. "The Graveyard Hag herself saw fit to pay me a visit."

Daine was poking at her own piece on the board. "Yes. Rats," she informed him solemnly, screwing up her nose and sniffing. "It smells of rats."

Lagne inclined his head, acknowledging her comment, before returning to the board. "These are out of action, but I don't suppose we'll need them with Tortall's legendary Lioness and black-robe mage." He shot the two a quick smile. "I shouldn't think we'd have too many problems once we, ah, get rid of Ozorne and reinstate Queen Thayet."

Alanna had turned ghostly white at the mention of a single monarch. I bowed my head slightly. Isis was mine. I would kill her for that, and for my brothers. Lagne wrapped an arm around my shoulders as casually as possible. I was grateful for the support he offered. "Princess Kalasin and I are on here as Josua and Arabella..." He trailed off, holding up the markers. "Oh. Well, I suppose that means we don't need to put the necklaces back on, then."

Numair received a sharp nudge from the impatient looking Daine. "I know, sweet," he murmured. "I'm not leaving Daine," he announced to the rest of us. "And I'm not letting her fight."

Lagne inhaled sharply. "Wonderful," he muttered, shifting their pieces out of the way. "Now, if we…" He trailed off, furrowing his brow. Suddenly, as if he hadn't realised it was still there before now, he withdrew his arm from my shoulder and hunched over the board. Belatedly I recognised it was set out in the same style as the first floor of the palace. "I suppose the best thing to do would be to throw caution to the winds and presume that there are guards down every corridor. The quickest route would be this way." He traced it with his finger. "Now, you two-" This evidently was supposed to mean Daine and Numair –"should leave here in case she sends somebody back. I trust you'll keep yourselves suitably hidden, until… Well, I guess you'll find out whether we've been successful or not."

Numair nodded absently, standing and then steering Daine to the door without a backwards glance, or a 'good luck'. I suppose he was preoccupied, or maybe the fate of Tortall didn't mean that much to him. I shook my head slightly, wanting to rid myself of such thoughts.

Lagne eyed Alanna apprehensively, perhaps unsure as to whether she had her own quest to fulfil, or whether she was content to pursue ours. The lady knight's eyes had reddened and her hand clenched the hilt of her sword, finding comfort in what she could. I tried to meet her eyes, to tell her that I didn't blame her, but I found myself unable to. "Sir Alanna, would you mind waiting outside? I wish to give something to my royal cousin." She nodded, transparently impatient to get started, and left the room.

I frowned, watching him pack away the chess set. "What did you want to give me?"

He hesitated, glanced at me, then away again. Abruptly he got to his feet and retrieved the two necklaces. "Here," he offered, though still he refused to look at me. "We might need them later."

I took mine from him, puzzled. He seemed almost ashamed. "This was it? This was what you had to give me?"

"No," Lagne admitted, crossing the space between us. I swallowed, finding my mouth as dry as a Carthaki desert. "This was," he said, slipping two fingers under my chin and tilting my head upwards. "In case I don't get to later," he whispered. His lips brushed mine.


	18. shameful deeds

_The men came marching in, two by two, by two by two. Into the capital, into the heart of the country. The Stormwings that jealously guarded the palace fell to the ground, one after the other. The man who had promised them all failed to protect them at the vital moment, and so they fell without protest. At the vital moment, he was searching for a lost jewel, the jewel that cinched his claim to the throne. The jewel that was the Queen of Tortall._

_The men had come at last, led by a mere boy of fifteen, an extraordinary boy, to be sure, but a boy all the same. The boy that was Prince Liam of Conté, who had slipped inside the palace already._

_The men were coming, ready to do whatever it took to get their country back. Men hardened by resentment, toughened by anger._

_They were not needed._

_A pretty girl and a boy ran through the maze of corridors, flanked by a surly-looking guard._

_Two royals and a Lioness.___

_They were not needed either._

_At the last moment, somebody else had come through for Tortall, somebody not even the greatest seer in the Mortal Realms could have predicted. Somebody not even Shakith would have spared a thought for._

_Not even she had considered it._

_*_

"Do you have any idea who I am?" I demanded of the guards, dimly aware that my rumpled and dishevelled appearance was not helping me in the slightest.  
  
"Yes, miss," the guard on the door confirmed, seemingly pleased that he was doing me such a big favour.  
  
I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring his shorter, fatter counterpart for the time being. Even though I had no time, there was no time for this. I had a black-robe mage on my tail, and they weren't letting me past. "Then let me go through," I suggested, as sugary-sweet as I could manage.  
  
He still didn't show any signs of obeying. I felt a sharp prick of - pity? guilt? after he collapsed. Whatever it was, emotion was not as sharp as the prick of my dagger, nor as lasting. The thump he made was echoed seconds later by the other guard's fall to the floor. I didn't have time to marvel at the crimson blood staining the floor, though. I had things to do. No time.  
  
"Ozorne!"  
  
The Emperor - hah! - turned at my call. Sweat beaded on his forehead, making the make-up that he appeared to have turned to once more patchy. Black lines had trickled down his cheeks from his eyelids, giving the impression of tears. "She's loose, we have to find her," he informed me authoritatively.  
  
Daine. How gods-blasted typical. _I_ get the throne for him, _I_ pretend to be Kalasin, yet _I_ get locked up, and he doesn't bother to visit. But even the Realms of the Dead themselves would be turned upside-down should _precious Veralidaine Sarrasri_ be misplaced.  
  
"No," I said coldly. "We are not going _anywhere_."  
  
I wasn't entirely sure what I was there for. Vague ideas of a refuge, a safe haven, came to mind, but I ignored them, struggling to remember what I _had_ come for.  
  
"Don't be silly, Princess. Now, think, where could she have gone?"  
  
"Numair took her," I replied dismissively. "She is no longer your concern."  
  
He waved an imperious hand at me. Oh, his arrogance and conceit had certainly swollen since our last meeting. "No, Draper will have gone after Veralidaine."  
  
I ran my tongue over my lower lip, trying to process this information. "So, you're not looking for her?"  
  
"Yes, yes, I am!" he said angrily, impatient for me to keep up. I felt as though wool had filled my head, replaced my brains. I felt as though I was wading through treacle. "The Queen, Thayet, is missing!"  
  
He wasn't looking for Veralidaine. Relief swept through me, leaving me giddy. Veralidaine meant nothing, she meant - Slowly, my brain caught up with what he was saying. Anger, fiery and furious, raged inside me. "The _Queen_?! Now you're after the _Queen_?!" I let out a harsh laugh, not taking any notice of any response he might have made. More laughter rose to my lips. I was powerless to stop it. Tears ran down my cheeks, and my sides ached.  
  
"Princess-"  
  
"_Isis_," I grounded out, enunciating carefully. All humour fled instantly. "Isis. My name is _Isis_. Not _Princess_, not _Kalasin, Isis_!"  
  
He took a step back. I could see him mentally debating whether he should call the guards now or not. It did not matter to me when he decided to shout for them. They were dead, and would not come, no matter how appropriate the time, or how much they were needed. "Isis," he repeated.  
  
I licked my lips carefully. "Ozorne." I watched him wince at the familiarity. I was nothing but a commoner to him. It was then that the realisation sunk in. "I don't - I risked my life - everything for you, and I don't mean anything to you, do I?" He merely blinked at me, apparently unsure as to what my meaning was. I was trembling now, but my voice remained steady as cool, calm reason reached me. "I got you this throne. I did everything you asked me to do, and more, and yet - I'm nothing to you. All those days, I waited for you to come for me, to say that my punishment was over. You never came. You didn't have the slightest intention of coming, did you?"  
  
He shrugged at me. Silently, I pleaded with him to lie for me, to lie so I'd know that I was important enough for him to keep in his favour. "I was busy."  
  
That stung. Probably about as much as the final powder that was hidden in a pocket of my dress would sting his organs, shrivel them up, cause him agony, but not let him die for a whole week. I stopped myself reaching for it, barely, as a much more fitting punishment came to mind. "I could have helped you, you know. I could have restored you to the throne of Carthak. I could have given you an empire like no other."  
  
He squirmed slightly, but his eyes were alight with greed. I enjoyed the sensation of making a grown man squirm, for all he was a fool. "We could still-"  
  
"We could have toppled the gods, you know," I continued. We couldn't have. It was all lies. Lies to make him think that I mattered. Lies to make him think that I was helpful, that locking me away had been a mistake that he would regret for the rest of his life. "It's a shame, really."  
  
"We can still-"  
  
I shook my head. "No, _we_ are done. Forever. It's a shame, though." I glanced up at him, fumbling for the dagger tucked into my sash. The last thing I had stolen from Kalasin.  
  
"It's a shame to spill blood on this carpet."


	19. yours

Thanks for reading, reviewing, and hopefully enjoying. This is the end, 25 300 words!! This chapter is 970 words, sans author notes.

* * *

I suppose approaching the great, golden doors, only to discover the two crumpled, bloody forms was our first warning of yet more carnage to come. I had definitely been a girl too long; instead of assessing the situation in a calculating manner as the knight appeared to be doing, I took a step back and resisted all temptation to clamp my hand over my mouth. It clearly was not a good day to be a palace guard. 

"Maybe they didn't colour-co-ordinate to his satisfaction?" Kalasin suggested, oddly light-hearted, though her grip on my hand was becoming unbearably tight. She took in a deep breath, and I felt a swell of pride for how strong she was being. Now, I had to repress the temptation to kiss her. There was a time and a place for such things, and just before meeting your former torturer didn't fulfil either category.

"Time to pay our respects to our most esteemed King."

She pushed the door. Instinctively, I pulled her back, allowing Alanna, then myself, to go first. The room sparkled with splendour that one might expect of Ozorne, but the Princess Pretender was apparently the only occupant of it, tears dripping down her cheeks. Her snivellings filled the air and she was kneeling over something, but she looked up as she heard our arrival. She dismissed Alanna immediately, gave me an incomprehensible look, before turning her attention to Kalasin. "You found me."

Kalasin was having difficulty containing her rage and she trembled all over. "Where is he?"

The other girl raised a dark eyebrow, and then stepped down, permitting us a full view of the recently deceased Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe. This time, I tried not to be repulsed, and even managed to move closer, feigning interest rather than disgust, though I was unable to crouch down and prod the corpse as Alanna was doing. Never mind, maybe I would do better with the next carcass.

"Definitely him," she confirmed, rising once more.

Ozorne's accomplice turned to Kalasin. "I killed him with your dagger," she said earnestly, offering it for closer examination. I swallowed, hard, trying to ignore the light feeling in my head. An insane girl holding a dagger was hardly a comfortable situation to be in. "I – I thought it – fitting." Her voice was cracking slightly, although I was unable to tell whether it was affected or not. Maybe she had played the game so long it had become part of her.

Kalasin's breathing was uneven. "So?" she asked coldly. "Did you really think that would redeem you? Did you honestly believe that stealing something else of mine would – would, what, let you _off_?" Her eyes were visibly sparking with hatred. "You killed my father. One of you did, and since he is dead, you leave me no option but to avenge him by killing you."

I took a step back, somewhat uncomfortable. I didn't understand this... thirst for revenge that they both seemed to have. My father had been a distant, regal figure and my mother had hung on his every word. Neither had been interested in me. I had thought that I shared this with Kalasin, this exclusion from family life. Perhaps this desire to avenge him was an attempt to feel included?

The girl gulped, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. "It was me. He told me to, but I did it." She inhaled sharply. "So, I suppose you have every right to kill me." She extended her arm, holding out the dagger to anyone willing to take it.

Kalasin lunged for it, but Alanna was quicker, knocking it out of her hands and sending it clattering to the ground. "Don't let _her_ make you into a murderer," she warned. Slowly, almost as if it pained her, Kalasin nodded.

A bubble of laughterburst from the impostor's lips. "It'd just be another thing we have in common." Her eyes, bloodshot and pained, opened and locked with Kally's. "We're very similar, you and I. I enjoyed every minute of killing your father. Just like you're going to enjoy killing me."

Kalasin pressed her hands to her ears, her expression fierce. "No. I'm not listening. I won't!" I didn't blame her. I couldn't figure out what the girl's intentions were. Was she just goading Kally, or did she want to die?

She certainly seemed desperate, her eyes travelling over the room, her mind presumably searching for an – any – escape route. Finally, her gaze came to rest on me and I shuddered. Those eyes were full of a torrent of emotions, which I could never even begin to empathise with. Tormented eyes, for a tormented soul.

I hadn't noticed that she'd moved closer, almost close enough for our breath to mingle. "Lagne Halai. Shall I make you mine as well?" she whispered, though I was sure Kalasin didn't miss a syllable and I was sure the impostor didn't intend for her to. "You knew me, didn't you? From the start, you knew me." She took a step back – I assumed she had come to her senses and was going to run away. "I'm yours."

Apparently I had been wrong. "No, you're not," I replied, struggling to assert myself. "You're-"

"_I_'m his," Kalasin interrupted. I darted a quick look at Alanna, who didn't bat an eyelid at the confession. "None of this is yours. It's my name. My clothes. My father. My family. It's all mine. _He_'s mine."

"I don't think you're entirely right there, your highness," Alanna said thoughtfully, picking up the discarded dagger which the impostor had begun to shift towards. "In fact, I'm almost certain that there is a lovely place on Traitor's Hill especially for her. Of course," she added hastily, "she won't be heading there immediately. We have to give her the right impression of Tortall since we seemed to have failed so dismally up until now. A nice long stretch in prison first might be just the trick."

At that, the impostor attempted to bolt, but the lady knight had been ready for this. She caught the girl easily and held her firmly, hands tightly gripping the girl's upper arms.

"I'll go get the guards," Kalasin said, with only a slight hint of reluctance. She shot the impostor a venomous look.

I caught Kalasin's hand as she turned to leave. "I am, you know."

She frowned, tilting her head back, so she could read my expression. "You are what?"

"Yours."


End file.
